


The Rent Boys of Knockturn Alley

by Apothic, wcn431



Series: The Brothelverse [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Barebacking, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Bottom Harry Potter, Bottom Sirius Black, Cuddling & Snuggling, Docking, Double Docking, Drunk Sex, First Kiss, First Love, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Foreskin Play, Frottage, Ice Play, Intercrural Sex, Kissing, Knotting, Light Bondage, Loss of Virginity, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Love, Naked Cuddling, Nudity, Ocean Sex, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Pining, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Harry, Prostitution, Rentboys, Rough Sex, Shower Sex, Skinny Dipping, Smut, Switching, Top Draco Malfoy, Top Harry, Top Remus Lupin, Virgin Draco Malfoy, Virgin Harry Potter, rentboy Harry potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-03-13 22:06:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 41,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13579911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apothic/pseuds/Apothic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wcn431/pseuds/wcn431
Summary: On the second block of Knockturn Alley there is a cobblestone staircase that leads down to a red door. There isn't a sign saying it's the finest brothel in the wizarding community. Everyone knows. Sirius Black trains all of the boys himself, and he's the best rent boy in the business, even after all these years. When his Godson, Harry, is down on his luck, Sirius doesn't want Harry to get involved in the rent boy business. But Harry is desperate, and Sirius comes upon a potential client who is willing to pay top dollar for Harry's virginity.Draco Malfoy is about to enter into an arranged marriage. After all, his father is gay, and he still married a witch to uphold tradition. Lucius takes Draco to his favorite brothel a month before the wedding, where Draco nervously sits in Sirius Black's chambers, and listens to Sirius tell him about a boy who is a virgin too, and might be persuaded to share the night with Draco for the right price.





	1. Chapter 1

On the second block of Knockturn Alley there is a cobblestone staircase. If you walk down the steps you’ll come to a single red door. There’s no sign telling you that you’re in the right place. There isn’t even an address number. Either you know to knock exactly six times, or you don’t. Either you’ve been referred by a trusted customer, or you haven’t. Sirius Black doesn’t have time to deal with clients who want anything but the best—and who can afford to pay for it. Clients end up on his doorstep even without a sign or an address because his boys are perfection. Sirius hand-picks them himself—always beautiful, polite, and legal (no pureblood wizard wants a surprise visit from the aurors). And they’re always trained by Sirius himself, who is rumored to be the best rent boy in the business, even after all these years.

Of course, you won’t be able to get on his personal client list. The tattooed man with thick, curly hair, and a smile that can still make any queer man weak in the knees, only serves a select few men. And even they aren’t sure if they’re a client because Black wants their money, or because he wants their cock.

He is the best, after all.

***

Harry stands uncertainly just outside the Leaky Cauldron, waiting for his Godfather. He hasn’t eaten anything substantial in two days, and last night he was locked outside of the glorified broom closet with a rail-thin bed Mr. Borgin rents to him as a “furnished room” because he was behind on his rent. He ended up spending the night next to a muggle rubbish bin in the back of a restaurant, trying to find something decent to eat amongst the discarded scraps, and then crouching against the brick wall to get some rest, even though he woke up with a start every time a rat skittered nearby. It was a long night.

Those aren’t even the worst of his problems.

Soon Alecto Carrow is going to find Harry. And because Harry hasn’t made a payment on his loan for far too long—Harry is finally going to get the bite from Fenrir Greyback that he deserves. Fenrir will bite him on his face where everyone can see, just like he has to all of the other people who can’t pay back Carrow. Harry will never be able to find a job in the wizarding world again.

Sirius emerges from the door of the Leaky Cauldron in striking grey robes that match his eyes. When he’s dressed like this, you could mistake him for the regal pure-blood man he was meant to be—before he came out to his parents and was promptly disowned and burned off the family tree. There are reasons why Sirius became a rent boy.

“Good morning Harry,” he says, stepping in for a hug, then pausing. “You smell like you’ve had a hard night.”

Harry looks down at his feet and nods.

Sirius pulls out his wand and performs a quick cleaning spell. Harry will never get used to seeing the magic of Sirius’s wand. Ever since the purebloods killed every wand maker and destroyed every book and scroll on wandlore, the only people who had wands were those who inherited them. It had proven to be the best way to prevent muggle born wizards from learning magic.

“Come on. I’ll buy you some breakfast,” Sirius says.

Sirius orders for both of them, like he always does. A cup of black tea for Sirius, and a full spread for Harry.

“Thanks, Sirius. I can pay you back for this later,” Harry promises.

Sirius just shakes his head. “No you can’t. Borgin told me you’re behind on the rent again. I paid him off. You should be good until next month.”

Harry sighs with relief. At least he doesn’t have to go back to the rubbish bin.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says.

“Don’t be. But this is the third time in the last few months. Do you want to tell me what’s going on? Florean Fortescue was just telling me the other day that you’re doing decent work at his ice cream parlor. I know you’re getting paid. Are you in some kind of trouble?”

Sirius doesn’t know about the rare artifact Harry bought two years ago to try to save his mum. Well, the supposedly rare artifact. After it didn’t work, and his mum died of witch’s consumption anyway, Borgin didn’t want to buy it back from him.

Sirius doesn’t know how much the artifact cost, either. Or about the money Harry borrowed from Carrow to purchase it. Harry’s been too ashamed to tell Sirius, who has always been his favorite person in the the whole world. People were skeptical when Lily chose a prostitute for her son’s Godfather, but Harry wouldn’t have it any other way. Sirius was the first person he came out to, the person he celebrated with when he came of age, and the person he spent Christmas with after his mum died. He trusted that Sirius could help him.

“I owe Carrow money,” Harry whispers.

Sirius is good at acting. Harry knows that. It’s part of his job. But even Sirius can’t hide his shock.

“You borrowed money from Carrow? What on earth were you thinking?”

Harry bites his lip. “I… it was for mum. There was this healing necklace, for the consumption…”

“Merlin, Harry. You should have come to me.”

“You never could have afforded it. I knew that.”

Most people think Sirius’s brothel is obscenely lucrative. But Harry knows the truth. Sirius pays his boys too much, and a lot of the money gets eaten up in business costs. Harry isn’t the only one sitting at this table who owes Carrow money.

“How much?” Sirius asks.

Harry winces. “600 Galleons.”

Sirius’s eyes widen. “You can’t be serious. How did you convince him to loan you that much?”

“I didn’t. It’s from the interest. I only borrowed 150.”

“Oh, Harry. That’s so much money. Maybe if I sold the brothel... But I can’t abandon my boys.”

This is the part of the conversation Harry’s the most nervous about. He’s not sure if Sirius will go for it.

“It’s just… well, you know how you were able to buy me those nice robes last Christmas because of your commission on that virgin? You know, the boy from Scotland?”

“Oliver Wood?” Sirius asks. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but virgin boys who want to go into the business are rare. Especially ones who meet my standards.”

Harry bites his lip, looking down at his plate. “I’m a virgin.”

“No. That isn’t going to happen.”

“Look, I know I’m not as attractive as your other boys, but maybe you could just sell my virginity. You know… since virgins who want to go into the business are rare?” Harry says. He’s practiced saying this all night, knowing it might be the only way he could stay out of Fenrir’s clutches.

“It isn’t that you aren’t attractive. That’s not the issue. And I could certainly find a buyer for your virginity. But that isn’t the way your first time should be, Harry. Trust me, I know.”

“But Fenrir Greyback—”

“I’ll think of something, alright? I’ll take on more personal clients.”

But Sirius isn’t fooling anyone. There’s no way Sirius will be able to pay off that debt in time. Harry knows what’s going to happen. Sirius is just going to ask Carrow to transfer the debt to him.

“I want to do it, Sirius. No one has taken me on as an apprentice. I barely make enough at Fortescue’s to get by. And… I like blokes. You’re always saying that prostitution is just another kind of job. Is that true, or is it not?”

Sirius gives him a level stare that makes it clear he knows Harry is trying to manipulate him.

“Being a rent boy will cost you things you don’t want to give up. Not at 18. Not when you still have so many opportunities and a chance at a normal life. I will take care of Carrow.”

But Harry isn’t ready to give up yet. He has one more punch to throw in this fight.

“Carrow offered to sell my contract to Dolohov last month. If you won’t sell my virginity, I’ll just tell him to do that. I know Dolohov is interested.”

Dolohov runs a brothel out of St. Petersburg. The name makes Sirius’s jaw clench. Harry hopes Sirius doesn’t call his bluff because he would never actually agree to have his contract transferred to Dolohov. There are some things worse than a werewolf bite on your face.

Harry knows he’s convinced Sirius when he says, “Your mother is going to roll over in her grave, kid.”

***

Draco Malfoy doesn’t like the idea of visiting a brothel with his father. He doesn’t like the idea of losing his virginity to a prostitute either, but it isn’t his choice. As usual.

So he follows his father into Knockturn Alley, and down some slippery steps to a nondescript red door.

“This is it?” Draco asks.

“Would you rather there be blinking lights that spell out ‘Whores, whores, whores!’? Honestly, Draco, the discretion is part of the reason I come here.”

Draco holds back the shudder that comes with idea of his father visiting a brothel.

His father knocks on the door six times, each knock clear and loud. Almost immediately the door opens, and there is a tall man with dark hair down to his shoulders, wearing a deep red suit with a collarless shirt that exposes a tattoo along his collarbone. The man moves with a grace and confidence that’s hard to miss, and he has a jawline that makes Draco’s mouth dry.

Maybe going to a brothel wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

But then the very attractive man leans over and gives his father a deep kiss, biting at his father’s bottom lip.

Ugh. Disgusting.

“So, this is your son,” the man says.

“Yes. Draco, this is Sirius. Sirius, this is my son, Draco.”

“Welcome, Draco. Please come in.”

What Draco supposes is the lobby looks more like the front room of someone’s home. The thick rugs and chairs seem to be just as much for comfort as for looks. There are half a dozen ridiculously attractive men milling about with drinks in their hands. None of them look much older than Draco, but everything else about them varies widely. They are all dressed in deep red suits like Sirius’s that fit them like a glove. Draco notices a few other men who are obviously Johns in the mix too.

A tall boy with a quidditch player’s build who is wearing one of those red suits says, “Can I get either of you gentlemen a drink?” in a thick, Scottish brogue.

“Yes, please. Scotch. Neat. My son will have one as well.”

Draco wants to roll his eyes. Is he not allowed to at least order his own drink?

“Lucius, I must be honest with you. I’m pleased you’ve brought your son, and I’m always happy to see you,” Sirius says, slipping an arm around Lucius’s waist. “But we should set down some ground rules before we begin. I want to make it clear that in my house, every man gets to speak for himself. So, if you were to hire the services of my one my boys, from that point forward, Draco would be the client, and therefore, would be in full control of his own experience. Are you comfortable with that?”

Draco watches his father bristle at Sirius’s words. “I will be the one footing the bill.”

“Yes. And as a result, I would want to give your son the best night of his life. Which would only be possible if he is treated as a full client, with all of the autonomy that entails.”

His father nods. “Alright. You’ve made your point, Sirius.”

Sirius gives his father a dashing smile before turning to Draco. “Now, what would you like to drink tonight? My bartender is the best, and we are well stocked. We can get you anything you like.”

Draco swallows uncomfortably, and then says, “Scotch. Neat.”

Because as much as he hates to admit it, his father knows him well.

His father only barely holds back a smirk.

The Scottish boy heads back to a small wet bar in the corner.

“So, I assume this means you’d like to proceed?” Sirius asks his father.

“Yes. Ask the boy what he wants. But if makes any kind of difference, I think it would be better for him to hire one of your more experienced boys. Experience is everything,” his father says, and Draco feels sort of nauseous as he watches his father look Sirius up and down meaningfully.

“Thank you, Lucius. I’m sure Draco will take that under advisement,” Sirius pauses as both men are handed a drink. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to take Draco into my chamber.” When his father raises an eyebrow in question, Sirius clarifies: “To talk. Privately. Please enjoy the company and the scotch. I bought that bottle just for you, Lucius.”

Draco notices how much this pleases his father, and it occurs to Draco that Sirius is probably one of the few people who have ever pleased his father. Lucius Malfoy is a hard man to please.

The impression of a home continues as they walk through a hallway, and Sirius opens a door to a room that looks exactly like a bedroom—complete with knick-knacks on top of the dresser. Sirius gestures for Draco to sit on the couch at the foot of the bed as Sirius relaxes in a chair in front of the desk.

“It’s good to meet you, Draco. Your father tells me you just completed your final year at Hogwarts. Congratulations.”

His father discusses Draco with his prostitute? Draco finds that a little off-putting, but at the same time he can understand why his father might confide in Sirius. His kind smile puts Draco at ease.

“Thank you. I’m… well, I’m about to be married,” Draco says, needing to explain his presence here for a reason he doesn’t understand. “To a witch, of course. We’ll need an heir. And… well, Father wanted…”

“Lucius wanted you to have a bit of experience before the wedding night when you’re going to try to conceive that heir?” Sirius guesses.

Draco nods.

“Can I ask you something, Draco?”

Draco nods again.

“Are you queer?”

“What?”

“Are you queer? A poof? Light in the loafers? Do you like men?”

Draco smiles. Sirius is worried that his father might have taken his straight son to a gay brothel. It’s funny because his father definitely would do something like that.

“Yes. I’m gay.”

“Well, that’s a relief. Can you tell me a little bit about what attracts you to a man? It will help me know which boys to recommend to you.”

Draco isn’t sure what to say to that. He’s tried not to think about it. Maybe he should have let his father just pick someone out. It didn’t really matter, did it?

“Would you like someone with a lot of experience like your father suggested?”

Draco shakes his head. Draco hates the idea of having sex with someone who would be teaching him the rope, like his father. He’d prefer someone younger, newer to the trade. Someone who might make his first time feel less like a lesson or a transaction, and more like one bloke fucking another bloke for fun. Like what he could have with a boyfriend if his father didn’t expect him to live in the closet for the rest of his life.

“I… guess I’d like to be with a bloke who’s gay. Like me,” Draco says. This is something he’s certain of. And secretly, he hopes that whoever he’s with orgasms while he’s fucking Draco. That would be nice. But he knows he can’t ask for something like that.

Sirius smiles. “They all are. No need to worry about that.”

“Then just someone who… might be into someone like me. I mean, I know it’s for pay, but if they didn’t have to fake it too much, that might be best.”

Sirius takes in a deep breath. “Draco, things are different than they used to be for gay wizards. If you came out—”

“If I came out I would lose my entire inheritance. Father has made that perfectly clear,” Draco says with gritted teeth. He sighs. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Sirius chuckles. “Draco, do you know what my last name is?”

Draco waits. Of course he doesn’t know this man’s last name.

“Black. We are actually first cousins once removed. On your mother’s side, of course.”

Draco’s mouth opens in shock.

“I know exactly what losing your inheritance would mean. And I will never judge you for staying in the closet. But I had to say something, because it sounds to me like you want to have a connection with someone. And that can be hard to accomplish on the same level in a brothel. You understand that the relationship I have with your father exists because he’s been paying for my services for years. And because I have very few clients. None of the other boys will be able to offer you that. They’ll be kind, and the sex will be good. But it will just be sex.”

Of course. Draco feels foolish.

“Yes. I understand. Sorry. I didn’t mean to make it sound like I think it will mean anything. I just… maybe just one of your boys who has the least experience, then. Someone who wouldn’t mind topping?”

Sirius looks away from Draco, then stands up, and paces back and forth for a few moments.

“You’d like to bottom?” Sirius asks.

“Well, yes. I mean, both appeal to me. But this may be the only time I get to… if I only get to be a with a guy once, I want it to be that. And if we have time, then, I guess… I mean if it would be alright, I’d like to top too. But only if we have time.”

Sirius folds his arms across his chest. “Do you have any other specific requests?”

Draco takes in a deep breath, unsure if he should say it. Admitting what he really wants would just make him look foolish again.

“If… if there are any boys who might consider… kissing. On the mouth.”

Sirius’s eyebrows raise, “Something like that would be terribly expensive.”

Draco understands. Because these boys don’t want to connect with Draco. They just want to get paid.

“I have an idea. One I think you might like. But you’d have to get your father’s approval first, because the cost would be exorbitant. I have a virgin. He’s your age. Completely new to the business. I haven’t even trained him yet.”

Hope bubbles up inside of Draco. A virgin? Like him. They could be each other’s firsts. People always remember their first, right? Maybe if Draco could please this boy, it could be like his father with Sirius someday—if his father could negotiate him out of the infidelity clause. Or maybe even if he couldn’t. Who would ever find out?

This would be good. It would be okay. Draco could marry a witch if he could have something like that.

“What’s he like?” Draco asks, because he shouldn’t act too eager. Sirius will remind him, yet again, that this won’t mean anything. And Draco doesn’t want to hear that just now.

“Well, he has dark hair, and he’s tall, like you. He’s gay. And it would be nice if he could be with someone gentle for his first time. I don’t know about the kissing, Draco. I’d have to ask him.”

Draco just shrugs. “It’s not a big deal. I mean, I’d like to kiss him, but even if he says no, I’d still like to hire him.”

“Alright. Let’s go ask Lucius.”

But Draco already knows that his father will say yes. It doesn’t matter how much it will cost. Draco will make him say yes. If he has to be with a witch for the rest of life, Draco wants this one thing. His father will have to give it to him.

Sometimes there are benefits to being spoiled.

***

Harry stands naked in the bed chamber, unsure whether he should sit down or wait near the door.

The contract stipulated that Harry had to be completely naked, except for his glasses, when the boy entered, and that the boy could walk away if Harry didn’t strike his fancy. The boy’s father was worried about signing the contract without seeing Harry’s photo. Which means that all of this rides on Harry’s looks. That makes Harry nervous. He imagines most rent boys are well endowed. And it isn’t that Harry is small, but he’s not huge either. He doesn’t know what this Draco is going to think.

Sirius was able to sell his virginity for an amazing sum—400 galleons. It would be enough to keep Carrow off of his back for a while. But only under two conditions—Harry wasn’t allowed to go through the same sexual training as the other rent boys until after tonight, and Harry had to let this boy kiss him. It seemed sweet—that this was the one thing the other boy wanted more than anything else. Sirius had warned him over and over again how intimate kissing was—how Sirius himself only kissed two of his clients, and only the ones he had long-term contracts with. But Harry didn’t care. At this point selling his lips doesn’t feel as intimate as selling his ass.

The doorknob to the bed chamber turns.

The door slowly opens, and behind it is a tall, lean boy who can’t be any older than Harry. He has white-blond hair that looks soft, and a long face that seems… nervous. He looks Harry up and down, swallowing hard.

“Are you… Harry?” the boy asks.

Harry nods. The boy is terribly good looking—too good looking to purchase sex from Harry. His expensive gray suit shows off a lithe frame that would catch Harry’s eye on the street.

The boy runs his fingers through his hair, his hand trembling before saying, “I’m Draco.” Then he reaches out and shuts the door, looking at Harry expectantly.

“Do you want… am I fit enough for you?” Harry stammers. He wants to wince at the way he phrased that. But how else should he say it? ‘Do you want to fuck me?’

Draco nods. “Yes. I’d like to proceed with the contract.”

Harry is relieved, but also surprised. Draco sounds so posh, so cultured. Ironically, if Draco wasn’t paying him for the privilege, there’s no way Harry would get to have sex with someone like Draco. Then he reminds himself that doesn’t get to have sex with Draco, not really. He gets to be fucked by Draco, in whatever way Draco wants to fuck him. And Harry doesn’t get any say on how that will work.

Harry takes in a deep breath, and feels grateful for the small bit of training Sirius gave him, in spite of the contract.

 _“I hate to lie to Lucius, but I’m not sending you in there completely blind,”_ Sirius said. _“We’ll just stick to the basics — nothing too specific or physical. It will be our little secret.”_

“Maybe I could help you get a little more comfortable,” Harry says to Draco, Sirius’s words echoing in his head: _“A man will like you better when he’s not wearing a tie. A man likes everything in life better when he’s not wearing a tie.”_

Harry reaches for Draco’s cream tie, and Draco flinches. Harry’s fingers stop, unsure if he should proceed.

“I apologize. I’m just… nervous.” Draco says.

He seems like he means it. Something about the fact that Draco feels nervous too makes Harry relax. Maybe all of this is going to be okay.

“I get that,” Harry says.

Draco’s lips slide into a half-smile, and something in Harry’s stomach flips.

That’s a really nice smile.

Harry’s fingers reach for Draco’s tie again, and this time Draco lets him unloop it, and slide it off his neck. Harry is very aware of how close they’re standing, especially as his eyes lock with Draco’s.

Harry thinks again of Sirius’s training: _“When you meet a man you find physically attractive, let him watch you rake your eyes across his body. If there’s a bit of him that’s particularly spectacular, allow yourself to stare. Most men don’t want empty compliments. They simply want someone to appreciate the good parts of them. If the man isn’t physically attractive, talk to him. Find something about him that is. Most men are attractive in some way, even if you have to dig a bit to find it.”_

Harry isn’t going to have to dig tonight. He lets his eyes fall to Draco’s lips. They’re pink and full and so close. He allows himself to stare.

“I… about the contract. We don’t have to kiss, if you don’t want to. I just mentioned it once, and my dad got unreasonable about it… If you don’t want to, I won’t tell anyone, alright?”

Harry looks up at Draco’s eyes, and he can tell that Draco means it. But Harry wants to kiss Draco. Maybe more than he should.

“I don’t mind.”

Draco licks his lips, and Harry wonders if they’re going to do it now. But then Draco just stands there, staring at Harry’s lips the way Harry stared at his earlier.

Sirius’s training kicks in: _“Sometimes a man will only tell you what he wants once. Especially if it’s something he’s embarrassed to want. Don’t make him repeat himself, just give it to him.”_

Harry leans forward and brushes his lips against Draco’s. They’re soft and warm, and cause Harry’s lips to buzz with electricity. Draco’s breath catches as Harry presses in deeper, and that electricity spreads through him like wildfire. If this is what kissing feels like, why doesn’t every rent boy want to do it every night? Harry clutches at the lapels on Draco’s suit without thinking, and then pulls away when he realizes that he’s lost hold of himself.

That’s why rent boys don’t kiss every night. Because it’s too good.

Draco’s flushed cheeks look beautiful, and so do his burning eyes. Harry allows himself to stare once again.

“Could I… would it be alright if we did that again?” Draco asks.

Harry nods and leans in a second time. This time Draco’s trembling hands slide along Harry’s jaw, and Draco’s mouth opens, allowing Harry to slide his tongue against Draco’s.

“Mmmm,” Draco moans softly.

Harry grasps at Draco’s lapels again, his tongue plunging further, feeling bold enough to slide a hand inside Draco’s jacket. It’s warm inside, and Harry squeezes his eyes shut as Draco sucks his tongue, and he feels the beating of Draco’s heart against his hand. Just kissing Draco makes Harry hard. And while Harry’s naked like this, Draco must be able to tell.

When Draco’s hand trails down from Harry’s face to his shoulder, Harry shivers.

Draco breaks away. “I’m sorry. You must be cold.”

Harry shakes his head.

“I apologize. Here I promise that we don’t have to kiss, and I end up getting carried away,” Draco says with a tightness in his voice that Harry wishes wasn’t there. “I’ll get my clothes off so we can just get on with it.”

Harry schools his face. “Get on with it.” Right. Because he’s about to get fucked. How had Harry forgotten? Sirius’s advice plays in his head: _“Johns are going to say things that might hurt or bother you sometimes. Just remember that regardless of how they view you, you are a professional. And if you act like one, you’ll feel better at the end of the night.”_

Harry is a professional. And a whore. This is not a make-out session with his boyfriend.

“Of course. Whatever you would like,” Harry says.

Draco’s gaze jerks from the buttons of his suit to Harry’s face, like he’s been slapped.

“Right. Whatever I would like,” Draco repeats as he looks away, and the words aren’t happy ones.

Harry isn’t sure what to do to bring that flushed look of desire back to Draco’s face. He just knows that he’s said something wrong. Clearly, he has a lot to learn about being a good rent boy. He watches Draco slide off his shoes before taking off his jacket, and drape it neatly on the bed. Then remove the cuff links of his shirt, and deposit them on the nightstand. Draco’s movements are clean and precise, like he’s taken off a suit so many times in his life, these motions are merely muscle memory.

The only time Harry’s ever worn a suit was the day of his mother’s funeral.

Another reason why Harry is the whore and Draco is calling all of the shots.

When Draco unbuttons his shirt there is nothing but bare, pale skin underneath. And as he shrugs it off Harry can’t help but stare at Draco’s chest—the long, subtle hardness of his stomach, and the pink of his nipples. His shoulders are angled and slight, but there’s a strength in his slender frame.

Then the buckle of the belt clinks, and his slacks come down, revealing white pants that are damp where a cock that can’t be any larger than Harry’s tents them in the center. Harry is relieved. Maybe it would be alright. For the first time Harry wonders if he might actually like having Draco’s dick up his ass. The idea of it makes him ache a little bit in a delicious way.

Draco pulls down the pants too until he is gloriously naked. However attractive Draco was with clothes, it’s nothing compared to how he looks without them. Draco’s cock is thin and has a pink tip that is still half-way sheathed in foreskin. Harry discovers that he wants to taste it.

It bothers him that what he wants doesn’t matter. More than it should.

“How would you like me? I prepped myself before your arrival, but there’s more lube in the nightstand. From what I hear, the more the better with that sort of thing.” Harry feels like he’s rambling, even though he really does need to say all of that. Sirius told him several times that it was important to demand lubrication frequently and firmly, and never let a John think it was optional. This was after the long lecture about being on time for prep so Sirius could perform the necessary prophylactic spells.

Draco freezes. “Didn’t Sirius tell you. I mean, it was in the contract…”

Harry doesn’t understand. “What was in the contract?”

Draco’s face turns pink. “I mean, it did specify the option of switching, but the contract said you’d be willing to… top. I mean, it’s okay if you’re not into it. I mean, if you’re not willing, of course.”

Draco wants Harry to fuck him. Harry’s erection that had emerged during their kiss, and then flagged at Draco’s abrupt change of pace, is back in full force. Draco is looking at it, and he actually licks his lips.

Like he wants to taste Harry too.

“I’m into it, I mean willing,” Harry says, almost making an embarrassing mistake. It’s one thing for Draco to say something like that, but it’s another thing for Harry to admit how much he wants Draco.

Draco’s shoulders relax. “I prepped too. I mean, I’ve been prepping for a while with dildos. But I might still need to be opened up a bit. I can do it myself, if you would prefer.”

Harry wants to smile at that. Something tells him that getting opened up is definitely something you can expect from a whore you just paid 400 galleons to fuck you.

If Draco doesn’t want to fuck Harry, then why on earth did he pay such a large sum for a virgin?

“I can open you up,” Harry says.

Draco bites his lip, and considers Harry. “Are you sure? I mean, if you think it’s gross. I washed, of course, but…”

Harry smiles. Draco is… sweet. Harry wasn’t expecting that tonight.

Sirius’s words return: _Every time you touch a man it counts. Every time your fingers brush his while handing him a drink, every time you sit close enough to press your leg against his, every time you tuck his hair behind his ear. Every. Single. Time. If you want to get paid decently for sex, all you have to be is young and pretty. But the best paid prostitutes aren’t young, Harry. They’re enthralling. And that takes practice. It takes understanding that your every move—your every touch—matters. It’s about the tease, about the experience. Give Draco an experience he can’t forget, and he’ll pay you handsomely for it. He’s going to inherit the Black fortune, and he’s entering into arranged marriage with a witch. He’s the perfect mark. If you really want to be a whore, be a well-paid one. Be a whore for a pureblood prince._

At the time, this seemed very appealing, but now it just seems… sad. The Draco that looks back at him tonight—polite and vulnerable—doesn’t feel like a mark. He feels like a boy who’d just like to kiss and have sex with someone. That need seems so human to Harry. It’s a need he’s felt himself so many times during the last two years on his own. If he had been able to pay for the pleasure, he probably would have.

“I’ll open you up, Draco. I’d like to,” Harry says.

Draco gives him a shy smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Draco crawls onto the bed, waiting on his hands and knees. Draco’s ass is probably the most beautiful thing Harry has ever seen. Firm, but full and with just a hint of muscle. Harry wants to touch it, squeeze it, and he wonders if that could be possibly construed as prep.

_Every touch matters…_

_Men simply want someone to appreciate the good parts of them…_

_It’s about the experience…_

Harry reaches out, and lays a tentative hand on Draco’s ass. He can hear Draco’s breath quicken.

“This alright?” Harry asks, as he contracts his fingers, squeezing Draco’s perfect ass, watching and feeling the flesh give under his touch.

“Oh, yes,” Draco whispers.

“What about this,” Harry asks, grabbing his left ass cheek with this other hand, squeezing them both at the same time, exposing the glistening hole at the center.

Draco lets out a strangled gasp.

Harry does it again, and Draco’s head pushes into the mattress, his shoulders tensing.

“I thought… you didn’t do the sexual training,” Draco says.

Harry releases Draco’s ass. “I didn’t…. I just wanted… I’m sorry.”

Draco looks back at him. “You wanted what?”

Harry glances at the floor. “To… touch your ass.”

Draco’s hand snakes out to grab Harry’s wrist. He looks into Harry’s eyes as he brings Harry’s hand back to his ass. Harry squeezes Draco again, his mouth going dry when Draco closes his eyes and his face tenses with pleasure.

Once he has permission, Harry begins massaging Draco’s cheeks, watching the way they jiggle and pinken under his touch. He separates them, his fingers inching closer to Draco’s hole, all while Draco squirms underneath him, his breath coming hard and fast. It all feels so good Harry can’t stand it — not just because he likes Draco’s ass, but because he’s allowed to like Draco’s ass. Because Draco doesn’t mind.

As his fingers near Draco’s pink pucker he takes both of his thumbs and rubs on either side of it, hearing Draco’s breaths become desperate.

“Hold on, I’m going to grab the lube,” Harry says. Draco nods rapidly.

Harry ducks over to the nightstand, and grabs the canister of lube. There are preparation spells, of course. And lubrication spells. But Johns aren’t allowed to bring in their wands, and most of the boys can’t afford one. Besides, Sirius insists that some things are better without magic.

Harry dips his forefinger into the lube. It’s thick and clear, and unfortunately, pretty cold. He warms it up by rubbing his hands together. And then he reaches out and touches Draco.

He can feel Draco tense, which isn’t what he wanted, so he goes back to massaging just outside of Draco’s hole, pressing his fingers deep into Draco’s skin until Draco relaxes, then Harry slowly, ever-so-slowly, massages into the pucker. It’s already slicked from Draco’s preparation earlier, and so as Harry puts pressure on his finger, it inches inside.

Draco whimpers, which makes makes Harry swallow with want.

His finger is only halfway in when he begins to circle it around, trying to get a feel for what Draco likes. At this point, he isn’t pleasing Draco because it’s his job, but because he desperately wants to—because his body is pulsing with the need to fill Draco, to make Draco come, to make Draco moan his name. Which is bad. Because Draco isn’t going to moan Harry’s name.

They’re not having sex, Harry reminds himself. They’re fucking.

But Draco is so pliant and vulnerable beneath him, so responsive as Harry slides the rest of his finger inside. Draco’s walls feel hot and tight. Harry’s going to cum the second he’s inside of Draco, he already knows it.

Harry can hardly hear the soft “More” that comes from Draco’s lips. It’s not a whisper, it’s less than that. Like an exhale with meaning, and it makes Harry feel on top of the world.

Harry gives Draco what he wants, of course.

The second finger meets more resistance than the first, but not too much. Draco is pushing back into Harry now. Not a lot, but there is definitely a slight rocking, even though Harry can see how tensely Draco is trying to stay in place. Like he doesn’t want Harry to know how much he likes it—like he’s trying to play it cool.

Harry leans over, resting on his left forearm while the fingers of his right hand stay inside of Draco, and whispers in Draco’s ear.

“You know, the whole point of this is to feel good.”

Draco turns his head to Harry, puzzled.

“You’re holding back,” Harry says.

That bright pink color flushes through Draco’s cheeks again, this time spreading down his neck.

“It’s just… I never thought it would be someone else’s fingers,” Draco confesses.

Harry understands. Harry’s felt that lonely need to fill himself with his fingers too.

“Then show me how it makes you feel to have mine instead,” Harry says, knowing that sounds intimate, but not caring as much as he should.

Draco looks at him, still aroused and panting, something like hope showing in his eyes.

Harry’s body stays next to Draco’s as he pushes his two fingers in and out. Harry can feel Draco relax as he begins to gyrate back and forth, his face scrunching up, his voice calling out in a guttural groan. Harry watches Draco’s face closely as his fingers pick up speed, as they thrust in further.

And then Draco’s left hand reaches over, and grabs Harry’s.

Harry’s fingers slow down, surprised. Hand holding was not something he was expecting. Draco realizes his mistake, and jerks his hand away.

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” Draco says.

The pain in his voice makes Harry’s heart hurt.

“It’s alright. It was nice,” Harry admits. Because it feels right to admit that. It feels he’s opening himself up to Draco, the way Draco opened himself up to Harry in that moment he held Harry’s hand.

Draco searches Harry’s face, and Harry can tell that he’s unsure Harry is telling the truth. And that the truth matters to him.

So Harry opens up a little more.

“I’d like to… put my mouth on your ass. Would that be alright?” Harry asks.

Draco still looks skeptical but nods.

Harry pushes off his left forearm, returning back to the edge of the bed. He adds a little more lube, and slowly slides in a third finger as his mouth latches onto Draco’s left ass cheek and sucks.

The restrained gasp he hears makes Harry so hard it hurts.

Harry takes his time acclimating Draco to three fingers, bringing his mouth off of Draco’s ass, before coming back down in a different place. He can see the pink marks he leaves behind, and there’s something thrilling about that—and maybe not very professional. Harry can’t bring himself to care.

“Harry… I…”

Draco just said his name. Not in an exclamation, of course. But he still said it. And Harry knows what Draco is asking for, knows they’ve reached the point where the preparation bit is over.

_Don’t make a man repeat himself, just give it to him._

Harry slides his fingers out of Draco and steps to the side. He puts his hand on the small of Draco’s back, and pushes gently, so Draco’s backside will lower. Then slathers his cock with lube, giving himself a few pumps to warm the liquid, before lining up to Draco.

“I’m going put it in, alright?” Harry says, feeling ridiculous. There must be a sexier way to say that.

Draco nods. “Yes.”

He takes in a deep breath. He has to focus, has to stop from coming right away. He wants to make this good for Draco.

The pressure as he eases inside is simply too good. Draco’s ass, spotted with the marks from Harry’s mouth, is simply too beautiful. As he eases deeper and deeper inside, he can feel his control slipping. Especially as Draco’s fingers claw at the blanket underneath him, his knuckles white from the pressure.

Harry closes his eyes and stills for a moment. But then Draco’s hips are pushing back into him, until Harry’s balls touch Draco’s cheeks.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Harry lets out in a steady stream of curse words that Draco’s posh ears have probably never heard.

“Are you alright?” Draco asks.

“I’m just… I’m trying not to come, but you’re so… I can’t…”

Draco’s hips buck, slamming Harry further in, then out, and Harry is lost.

“Oh, Draco...”

He closes his eyes as the orgasm overtakes him, at least knowing enough to reach down, and grab Draco’s cock, pumping it in his fist as his muscles tense. But then everything is so overwhelming he doesn’t even know what he’s doing anymore. He can hear Draco groan. Harry’s fingers are wet, and Draco’s ass is squeezing him even tighter, and it’s all so good Harry can’t even see.

When it’s all over, and he’s resting on top of Draco, he realizes two things: he called out Draco’s name during his orgasm, and he’s definitely not going to end up as the whore of a pureblood prince.

If he had only just prepped Draco quickly and then fucked him, it would have been fine. But he let himself get carried away. He allowed himself to take what he wanted. He allowed himself to get sentimental.

_Just remember that you are a professional. And if you act like one, you’ll feel better at the end of the night._

Harry feels foolish and raw. He also feels something for Draco that he shouldn’t—a longing to try again, to prove to Draco that he could do it right. A longing to kiss him again too. All of it is bad and wrong and makes Harry’s heart ache.

“I’m sorry,” Harry finally says, lifting off of Draco and pulling out, wiping his hand off on the side of the bed. “You don’t have to… you don’t have to pay for that.”

Harry would make a terrible rent boy. He’s just going to have to take the bite from Fenrir.

Draco rolls over on the bed, looking up at Harry. He has this soft smile on his lips.

“It was good. Really good. Thank you, Harry. Would you be willing to… lie next to me for just a few minutes?” That beautiful blush floods Draco’s cheeks again. “I’ll pay whatever you’d like for it.”

Harry is so relieved. Draco really does look happy. Harry didn’t completely mess things up after all.

“Yes. And no charge for that. That should come with everything else,” Harry says, crawling on to the bed next to Draco.

Draco presses his lips together, like he’s considering something. “And what if I’d like to put my arm around you?” He asks.

Harry closes his eyes because he can’t let Draco see how happy this question makes him.

“Yes. We could also… kiss again. If you want.”

Harry can feel the warmth of Draco’s body as it presses against his, Draco’s arm hooking around Harry’s back. And then Draco’s lips are on his—gentle and searching as they travel to Harry’s cheek and his jaw.

“That was perfect, Harry. I’m glad my first time was with you,” Draco whispers.

His first time.

It was Draco’s first time too.

Harry buries his nose into Draco’s neck, and he says something he shouldn’t say—something no whore should ever say in response to a confession like that.

“Me too.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While there are not technically consent issues in this chapter, there is a sex scene between Lucius and Sirius later in the chapter that might be a problem for people triggered by consent issues.

Draco understands why Sirius wouldn’t show them a picture. Harry looks nothing like any of the polished, devastatingly attractive young men Draco saw in the parlor. His hair is wild, as if he just got off the quidditch pitch, and his glasses are taped together along the bridge of his nose. He obviously bites his nails too. Lucius would never knowingly pay 400 galleons for a boy who looks like Harry.

But Draco thinks Harry is perfect.

He’s a bit awkward, like the way some of his mates at Hogwarts are awkward—almost as if he’s still getting used to his height. But he’s definitely attractive in his own way too. His eyes are a deep green, and he’s gloriously tall—even taller than Draco. His cock is even a reasonable size, which was something Draco worried about with last night being his first time. But the thing he likes the most about Harry is how genuine he seems to be. There were moments when he could tell Harry actually enjoyed their time together. Like when he grabbed Draco’s ass, and when he orgasmed way too early. Harry seemed mortified by the slip. Draco found it endearing. Hot, actually. It meant that Harry was so turned on, he simply couldn’t help himself. It seemed like something a boyfriend might do, not a prostitute.

And then there is, of course, the fact that Harry has fallen asleep nuzzled against Draco’s neck, his knee thrown over Draco’s hip, his arms curled up along Draco’s chest. It’s preposterous, really. The contract clearly stated that after they had sex Harry was allowed to walk away. All he had to do to earn his 400 galleons was get Draco off once. Anything else was extra. Harry could be charging Draco for this, and probably a large sum too. Draco would gladly pay it.

The problem is their position on the bed is awkward, and despite his proximity to Harry’s warm body, Draco is starting to get cold. So he can either wake Harry, and try to convince him to stay the night, or lie here and freeze.

So far, the lie here and freeze option is winning out.

Harry stirs, pulling back from Draco, his eyes slowly opening. When he sees Draco he smiles. Then his eyes widen.

“How long have I been asleep?”

Draco shrugs because he doesn’t know.

“Sorry, I hope I didn’t keep you,” Harry says.

Now comes the trying to convince Harry to spend the night part. Sirius told him the room was theirs until the next morning, if the two boys worked something out that would necessitate its use for that long.

“Would you consider spending the night with me? I’d pay… whatever.”

Draco Malfoy, the great negotiator. His father will be furious.

Harry considers it for a moment. “Alright.”

That seems awfully open-ended. Especially in regards to the money aspect. Knowing he’ll never hear the end of it from his father if he doesn’t at least ask, Draco says, “How much?”

“Um, what do you think? Five galleons? More if we get up to trouble?” Harry suggests, a hesitant smile on his lips.

“Five Galleons? Harry, you can’t be serious.”

“Then three?”

“You’d stay the night with me for only three galleons?” Draco asks.

Harry looks away from him. Draco can tell he’s embarrassed. Which is unfair. Harry obviously doesn’t know how much he can ask for. Honestly, neither does Draco.

“How about ten?” Draco says, even though he’s pretty sure that’s not enough.

Harry nods. “That’s fine.”

“How much for… more kissing?” Draco asks. He’s not sure if that will ever be on the table again after tonight. Sirius seemed pretty against it when they signed the contract.

Harry doesn’t answer, he just leans in closer to Draco and presses their lips together. Draco knows he should specify the cost of this particularly mind-blowing kiss. He knows his father will won’t understand. But Draco doesn’t care.

Draco likes the taste of Harry as their mouths open, and their tongues meet. It’s like warm cinnamon. He likes how Harry’s hands flatten against his chest, and how the heel of Harry’s foot digs into Draco’s back, pulling him closer. He likes how slow the kiss is, how lazy. He likes how exciting it is too. How doing even this simple thing with Harry makes his breath quicken.

But Draco’s favorite thing about this kiss is the moment that his erection becomes so out of control it juts out toward Harry, and bumps against something smooth and hard. They both stop to look down at their cocks resting against each other. Harry doesn’t stop to negotiate. He doesn’t ask Draco what he wants. He just reaches down, encircling both of their cocks with his right hand.

Draco gasps. The heat of Harry’s dick pressed against his, and the firm but gentle grip of Harry’s hand is unexpected and overwhelming. As Harry moves his fingers up and down, pumping them both at once, dragging their foreskins up and down along their tips, Draco watches. Harry leans his forehead into Draco’s, and that feels better, somehow. Like Harry can feel it too—this frantic and terrifying desire for closeness that’s filling Draco’s chest. Harry’s cock is almost the same size as Draco’s, and darker. The head is bigger, and it makes Draco think of how good it felt inside his ass.

Draco comes at the thought of that, grasping at Harry’s hair, his entire body tensing all the way down to his toes. Harry groans as Draco spurts over his dick and belly, and then Harry is spurting too, giving Draco a rough kiss.

When Harry pulls back they’re both panting, and Draco can feel Harry’s staccato breath against his cheek.

“Sorry,” Harry says. “I should have asked. You don’t have to pay. That’s probably not what you wanted—”

Draco lets out a breathy chuckle. “That’s exactly what I wanted.”

Harry smiles. “Yeah?”

“Yes. Exactly that. Everything about that.”

Harry kisses him again, and that’s exactly what Draco wants too.

They reluctantly disentangle from each other to wipe off with some wet towels from a basket in the corner that are enchanted to stay warm. Then Draco pulls back the covers, and climbs inside the bed. Harry gets in next to him, looking at Draco uncertainly.

Draco steels himself to ask for what he wants, knowing how it will sound. It could put Harry off. It could expose him for how foolish he really is about all of this.

“Would you consider… spooning, I believe the word is?” Draco asks, and he can hear the tremor in his voice.

Harry smiles again, nodding.

Draco turns his back to Harry, and pushes nearer to him. Draco feels Harry’s arms come around him, and then the warmth of Harry’s body as he pulls Draco close. Draco can even feel Harry’s flaccid cock nestling in between his ass cheeks as Harry tugs the blankets over the both of them. A deep contentment washes over Draco as he lies there in Harry’s arms. He tries to stay awake, not sure how often he’ll get the chance to have this again with Harry, if ever. But eventually Draco drifts off.

***

The next morning Draco wakes to a soft knock at the door.

“Breakfast,” a timid voice says. Harry is still fast asleep, so instead of calling out to the house elf, Draco reaches over and rings the small bell sitting on the nightstand that signals a house elf may enter the room. There is a soft pop, and a house elf wearing a dark red dress and what looks like a matching tea cozy on her head like a hat appears, holding a covered silver tea tray.

“Winky didn’t mean to wake young master Malfoy. But Master Black said you is wanting breakfast,” The house elf whispers, after she glances at Harry’s sleeping form.

“Just give it to me,” Draco tells her.

Harry’s eyes flutter open. When he sees Draco he smiles. Draco could get used to that. But when he sees WInky Harry pulls up the covers to his neck with obvious horror.

“Relax, Harry. It’s just a house elf.”

Harry does not seem to think that’s a good enough reason to relax.

Winky sets their tray down on Draco’s lap and pops back out of the room.

Draco relaxes back into the headboard. The bed is pretty comfortable, and the smells from the tea tray are good too. Nothing but the best for the Malfoys. No wonder his father loves this place.

He takes the lid off of the tea tray. There are pastries, bacon, and sausage with a few sliced tomatoes and steaming tea cups, clearly enchanted to not spill on their journey here.

“That smells brilliant,” Harry says.

“What would you fancy? I’ll make you a plate,” Draco offers, picking up one of the plates stacked on the tray.

Harry sits up in bed, the covers falling down his chest and belly, but stopping short of revealing his hip bones. “I believe I’m supposed to do that for you.”

“Nonsense, I can manage,” Draco insists, and Harry stills.

“I’m sorry that I overslept,” Harry says. He seems nervous, like Draco expected him to rise early and act as his maid. Like Harry is a servant.

“Relax. I just woke up. Let me get you a plate. Tell me what you want to eat,” Draco repeats.

Harry’s shoulders are still tense when he says. “I like everything.”

So Draco piles Harry’s plate high with food, and hands him both the plate and a cup of tea. Harry takes it from him, and tucks in, eating at a rate that makes Draco stare.

Harry looks up at Draco, self consciously. “Sorry. I… well, I usually eat alone.”

Draco takes a pastry and cup of tea for himself from the tray.

“Is that all you’re going to eat?” Harry asks.

“I’ve already been fitted for my dress robes for the wedding. It wouldn’t do to outgrow them, would it?”

Draco hates the way Harry glances down at his stomach, which is perfectly normal, but not as flat as Draco’s. It hardly matters. Malfoys are expected to maintain their figures. It’s ridiculous that Harry would hold himself to the same standard.

Besides, Draco likes that Harry is more relaxed about his figure. There’s something so… real about him. If he wanted washboard abs, he could have picked one of the other boys.

Harry sets down his fork.

“I should probably start caring about that sort of thing,” Harry says.

Draco feels a pang in his stomach. Harry is going be one of those boys in the red suits. He’s going to fuck other men. He’s going to see other men’s asses, and like them just as much as Draco’s. He’s going to realize that Draco is nothing special. Soon he’ll be trained, and Draco won’t be able to tell what Harry actually likes or doesn’t. He won’t be Draco’s anymore.

He never was Draco’s. Why is he obsessing about this? Draco knew this was going to happen. Why is he so upset about it now?

“Could I see you again?” Draco asks before he can stop himself.

Harry smiles. “Yeah. I have to ask Sirius. I guess there’s this training I have to do. But yeah. I would like that. I mean, I think it would be alright.”

I would like that. The next time Draco sees Harry he’ll know better than to say something like that.

“Could I kiss you? Before I go?” Draco shouldn’t ask, but he does anyway.

Harry nods.

Draco sets the tea tray at the foot of the bed, leans over, and gives Harry a long, soft kiss. He tries to hold this feeling and this moment in his mind so he can save it in his pensieve later. So he can remember.

They eat quietly, taking long looks at each other. Then Draco dresses slowly, his heart in his chest, and nods at Harry as he turns to leave.

“Wait,” Harry says, getting up off the bed.

He slides his arms around Draco’s waist, and leans in for one last kiss. When Harry pulls away Draco can swear he sees a familiar longing in Harry’s eyes—a look that suggests Draco isn’t the only one sad to see this end.

“I hope to see you soon,” Draco says.

Harry lets his arms rest to his side.

“Yeah. Soon.”

Draco opens the door, and walks away.

***

Draco spends the morning thinking about Harry. His father is off visiting the Bulstrodes, probably preparing for the bloody wedding, and Draco is by himself in the huge manor. He tries to focus on his apprentice applications, but it’s no use.

He wants to see Harry again. Tonight. Which is ridiculous. He’s only been away from Harry for a few hours. He thought being with Harry would help him feel better about the wedding. Instead, it makes him ache for things he can’t have, and really question for the first time in his life whether coming out might be worth it. Can he actually marry a witch after what happened last night? Draco got just a taste of what it might feel like to be wanted be someone. Can he go the rest of his life without feeling that again?

When his father returns to the manor Draco almost pounces on him.

“How was your experience at Sirius’s house? I noticed that you hadn’t returned home yet this morning,” his father says.

Draco takes in a deep breath. “I would like to enter into a contract with Harry.”

His father gives him an amused smile. “I take it last night went well?”

“I would like the arrangement to be exclusive,” Draco tells him, trying to put some strength into his voice.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Draco. That boy is nothing special. We’ll chat with Sirius, and get another boy squared away for you this weekend.”

Draco folds his arms across his chest. “No. I want a contract with Harry. An exclusive contract. For a year.”

His father considers him for a moment, sensing how serious Draco is about this. Good.

“He’s just a whore. We’ll get you another. You’ll see they’re all the same,” his father says.

“No. It needs to be Harry. For a whole year. I need to be his only client.”

His father shakes his head. “No. Be reasonable about this. We already paid for the boy’s virginity. An exclusive arrangement like that would cost a fortune.”

“We have a fortune,” Draco says.

“And we are not spending it on that. I will arrange another boy for you. Tomorrow night. How about that Scottish bartender?”

“No. I… I need this, Father. As a wedding gift.”

His father scoffs. “That is out of the question.”

“Then I won’t do it. I won’t get married to Millicent Bullstrode. I’ll come out.” Draco knows even before he’s finished saying the words how true they are. He would actually do it. He wants to do it.

His father takes a step back, his mouth open. “Draco, this is absurd.”

“Yes, it is. You expect me to lie about who I am because you did. You’re gay. You should understand. But all you care about is tradition and maintaining appearances. Well, I won’t do it. If you won’t let me have Harry, then I’m going straight over to the Bulstrodes and telling them I’m gay.” His voice has risen in pitch, and he’s almost shouting by the end.

“Draco, you know the arbiter of the Black estate expects the heir to marry a suitable match before inheriting. It’s specified in the contract.”

“Then I guess I won’t inherit, will I?”

His father just stands there. The silence stretches between them.

“I guess I’ll be on my way then,” Draco says.

“Wait. Let’s talk this over. Do you have any idea how much something like that would cost?” His father asks.

“I know that your arrangement with Sirius can’t be cheap either. If you don’t do this for me, I will come out to the Bulstrodes and everyone else. I’ll put an ad in the bloody prophet. I swear.”

His father sighs. “Very well. I can tell this Harry is important to you. But why must the arrangement be exclusive? My contract with Sirius is not exclusive, but I still find it very satisfying.”

“If he has sex with other men, it won’t be the same. He’ll compare me to them.”

His father gives him a cruel smile. “Harry is a whore. The only thing he’ll be comparing is how much he’s getting paid.”

A part of Draco knows his father is right. But a part of Draco also remembers Harry offering to spend the night with him for only three galleons—remembers Harry coming too soon because he liked being inside of Draco. He can’t stand the idea of another man being the first to be inside of Harry, or the first to taste him. If Harry sleeps with other men Draco truly will be only money to Harry.

“I’ll come out if you don’t arrange an exclusive contract. For a year.”

His father rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t argue with Draco again. He knows how close Draco is to throwing all of his father’s careful plans away.

“I will talk to Sirius tonight and see what I can do.”

***

Lucius shows up for his Thursday night appointment at exactly 8 PM like every Thursday night for the past 20 years. Even when Malfoy is on Holiday he apparates to the Leaky Cauldron to make his way to Knockturn Alley. Even on the day his son was born. Even when he was on his honeymoon. Now that Narcissa is dead he sometimes comes on Saturday and Friday nights as well, in order to sample the younger boys. Sirius has made it clear that he is only available to serve Lucius on Thursdays. Which is a disappointment, because Sirius is so much better than the others. Sirius knows Lucius. Knows what he likes. Knows exactly what to say, exactly which scotch to purchase, exactly how he prefers to be greeted—with a rough kiss. Sirius Black is the man he would have loved if the world had allowed him to love a man.

But the world didn’t.

Sirius’s hello kiss is flawless tonight. The scotch is exactly the right temperature and age. If he didn’t have to discuss this ridiculous business with Draco and the rent boy he’s latched on to, it would be the perfect night. But unfortunately, Lucius believes Draco’s threat to come out. There was a steel in his son’s eyes that Lucius has seen many times. He’s going to have take care of this, and quickly.

Sirius takes him back to his quarters, where Lucius sips his drink next to Sirius while intermittently nipping at his neck. Lucius takes in Sirius’s smell and brings him in for a full, open-mouthed kiss. Sirius always drinks the same scotch as Lucius when they’re together, so he tastes deliciously of fine whisky.

Lucius needs to iron out the details for Draco before he gets too caught up in all of this. He pulls away from Sirius’s lips, and Sirius looks at him expectantly.

“Draco is rather fond of that virgin. Well, I suppose he isn’t a virgin anymore,” Lucius says.

Sirius doesn’t say anything. He just waits.

“He’d like to come to an arrangement with the boy. I hope you haven’t trained him yet.”

Sirius takes a sip of scotch. “No, I haven’t. You know the training I give my boys takes weeks.”

“Naturally. That’s why they’re so good,” Lucius agrees.

“Tell me what sort of arrangement would Draco like, and I’ll discuss it with Harry.”

“A year. Exclusive,” Lucius says, watching Sirius’s eyebrows raise.

“That’s a long time for a boy in Harry’s situation.”

“What do you mean his situation? I hardly see how Harry’s personal life has anything to do with it. This would be a professional arrangement.” Lucius argues, allowing an edge to come to his voice. Sirius will understand. This is business, after all.

“Yes, and Harry’s professional opportunities will be compromised if he remains exclusive with Draco for that long. This is the time in Harry’s career when he needs to be building a client base. He should be mingling in the lobby with our regulars every night, not tied to one customer.”

“I’m sure one year will not make that much of a difference—”

“I don’t need to explain how youth affects the marketability of a rent boy, Lucius. Harry is charming in a way I know the regulars here will appreciate. He stands to make a lot of money. I fully expect him to secure contracts with several customers. I’ve already started discussing his debut with the regulars.”

“How much do you want? Draco insisted on this boy. He wants the arrangement to be his wedding gift. Please work with me. I have been a loyal client for many years.”

Sirius stiffens. “Surely, you aren’t trying to bring our history into this.”

Lucius takes a long swallow of his scotch. Even he can admit that was a step too far, and in the wrong direction. Both men know that Sirius owes Lucius nothing.

“No, I apologize. But I am at your mercy in this situation. Draco has threatened to come out if an arrangement cannot be made.” Revealing the direness of the situation isn’t the best negotiation tactic, but it has to be done. Sirius has to understand that this isn’t optional.

Sirius allows a bitter smile to slide across his lips, which surprises Lucius. Usually Sirius is more in control of himself. “Good for Draco.”

“Watch your tongue. May I remind you that without my patronage, you would be barely scraping by—”

“Lucius, do you really want to discuss the impact of our history on my life and business? Because if that is what you wish to do with our time this evening, we can. But I assure you, that is not a conversation that will go well for you.” Sirius’s words are cool and clipped, and Lucius deserves them. He deserves a fair bit more too, but Sirius is a kind man. He always has been.

Lucius is not a kind man.

“One month. That’s how long it will take me train the boy anyway. He can be exclusive with Draco for one month. The price is 600 Galleons,” Sirius says.

“That is outrageous—”

“Harry is my Godson, Lucius. Lily Potter’s boy. I never wanted him to go into this business. I understand that you find Draco’s resistance to a life in the closet to be… concerning, but Draco will be fine. Even if you disown him, he’s finished his time at Hogwarts, which is something I never had the chance to do. He’ll be able to find a decent job and have a decent life—with or without you and your family’s money. Harry’s future is much more delicate. He’s in debt to the Carrows, and his family didn’t have the money to send him to Hogwarts. He has no education, and no career prospects. He needs to be successful here. I will not sacrifice his future so you can manipulate your boy into lying about who he is for the rest of his life. 600 Galleons is his price. For one month. You can take it or leave it. And if you think for one moment that I cannot replace you with a dozen other Johns who can pay me just as well, you forget your place, Malfoy.”

Lucius clenches his jaw. “If I am paying 600 galleons, the boy will not be trained. Draco doesn’t want him to act like a whore. The training can wait until after the contract is over—”

“I am not training Harry for Draco’s benefit. I am not training Harry for any John’s benefit. I train my boys so they can handle the business — both intellectually and emotionally. I train them so they can handle interacting with men like you, and not develop the unhealthy attachment we still have. I train them because I wish someone had trained me. Harry will be trained, and the contract will only be for one month. The price is 600 galleons. I am done discussing this with you, Lucius.”

Lucius sits motionless for a few moments. The last time Sirius spoke to him like that was after their sixth year at Hogwarts—after Sirius came out to his parents. They decided to come out together, but Lucius got cold feet. Sirius’s parents burned him off of the family tree. Lucius couldn’t risk that happening to him. There was no way either of them could have guessed how violent Sirius’s family’s reaction would be. Lucius couldn’t be blamed for that.

“Fine. I will deposit the money into your Gringotts account tomorrow morning.”

Sirius nods minutely. “I’ll discuss it with Harry. He still hasn’t officially agreed. I will inform you by owl as soon as I get his answer.”

“Fine.”

They sit in silence for a few moments before Sirius says, “How do you want me?”

“Naked. On the bed. On your knees.”

Sirius glares at Lucius as he stands up, that glare fixed on his face as he takes off each piece of his dark red suit. When his pants come off Lucius notices that Sirius isn’t hard like he usually is after they mess around for a bit on the couch.

Lucius doesn’t really care.

Sirius smoothly grabs the canister of lube from the desk drawer, and climbs up on the bed, prepping himself in front of Lucius. It isn’t hard to miss how inadequately he does it. Two fingers aren’t enough to let Lucius slide in easily.

Lucius doesn’t even take off his trousers. He just unzips his fly, pulls down his pants, and then slams inside Sirius hard. There’s plenty of lube, but Lucius can feel how tight Sirius is — can feel how much it must hurt. He can also see Sirius’s erection begin to form as Lucius starts pounding, the anger from their earlier conversation powering each thrust.

Lucius doesn’t touch Sirius’s cock. That isn’t part of their arrangement. But after Lucius comes inside of Sirius, he watches Sirius jerk himself off, and it only takes two strokes for him to finish, spurting on the sheets.

Lucius wipes himself off with the warm towels in the corner, zips up, and leaves without saying another word.

***

If you walk past the staircase on the second block of Knockturn Alley, and keep going along the potholed road lined with abandoned shops—past the condemned buildings infested with boggarts, gnomes, and cornish pixies, past a pocket of abandoned tenant buildings teeming with angry poltergeists, you will come to a street where no respectable witch or wizard will dare to venture. Crumbling homes with bars across the windows stand too close together—some of them leaning precariously to one side. There’s broken glass in the gutters and the smell of urine is faint, but always there.

To Sirius, this is home.

When he was disowned and homeless, wandering the streets with a broken heart, it was the werewolves who took him in. They let him stay on their couches, let him eat their food, even gave him clothes, even though they barely had enough to get by themselves.

Sirius walks to the end of the lane to where a tiny house with a light in the window sits. He knocks on the door. A man with light brown hair and a scar along the right side of his face answers. Even after all of these years, the scar still looks like a fresh bite mark barely healed.

Remus Lupin holds out his arms, and Sirius smiles, pulling him in for a tight hug.

Remus closes the door, and slides his hand into Sirius’s, lacing their fingers together. The fire is crackling in the fireplace as he leads Sirius to the couch where a steaming cup of tea is waiting for him on the coffee table.

It’s here that Sirius doesn’t have to be the best rent boy in the business. It’s here that he can relax into the arms of the man he loves.

Remus understands that despite everything, Sirius loves this job. He’s never asked him to give it up. Remus even knows that Sirius often enjoys the sex he has with his clients. But Remus doesn’t mind. Remus gets to have this, and that’s what Remus wants—something with Sirius that’s real.

Sirius sits down and picks up the cup of tea, leaning into Remus as they both ease into the cushions of the couch.

“Are you alright, love? You seem… tired,” Remus says.

“I am,” Sirius admits. “I am.”


	3. Chapter 3

Harry was supposed to meet with Sirius after his appointment with Draco. He didn’t. Instead, he snuck out of the brothel, and went back to his tiny room, where he’s now been holed up for over twenty four hours.

 

The problem is that Harry is a terrible liar. If he meets with Sirius there will be no way to hide what he’s thinking. And Harry is definitely having thoughts Sirius would disapprove of.

 

_ “Before you sell sex it’s important to understand why people buy it. You may think that all our clients are unattractive, older men, but that isn’t the case. Many of our clients are young, out, and fully capable of getting laid without shelling out money. They come here because sex is an emotional minefield. There are so many feelings and expectations attached to it. There are countless ways to fail or be left unsatisfied. _

 

_ “Our clients enjoy the simplicity of exchanging money for a good fuck. The fact that my boys are easy on the eyes and good at their job is just a bonus. This is one of the reasons why you should never get emotionally attached to any of the clients. Remember that you symbolize simplicity to these men, and remember that they don’t want to fall in love with you. They come here to fuck someone who won’t expect that from them.” _

 

Having sex with Draco wasn’t just a simple fuck. For Harry, it was the kind of experience that thrummed in his veins for hours afterward—that replayed in his head over and over again. He can’t stop thinking about the color of Draco’s skin or the way Draco’s cock felt in his hand. He doesn’t want to stop wanking to the memory of being inside of Draco, or the idea of Draco being inside of him. He likes the way his heart feels warm at the memory of waking up in Draco’s arms.

 

Harry understands he can’t go on like this forever. At some point he’s going to have to go back to Sirius’s house, and face the reality of the feelings he’s allowed to gestate in his heart. But for now, he wants to keep those feelings. For now, those feelings are nice and beautiful. Just like Draco.

 

At ten in the morning an owl taps at his window, and Harry knows it’s all over. He recognizes the handwriting on the envelope as Sirius’s. The letter simply says, “Please come to my chambers at your earliest convenience.”

 

Harry doesn’t want to lose his new job. So he gets out of bed, and throws on some robes before heading out the door.

 

***

 

Harry performs the rhythmic knock all of the employees use to get inside the brothel. The red door swings open. He can hear Sirius’s voice floating through the house.

 

“We stock the pineapple juice for Professor Slughorn, but he hasn’t visited us recently, so I think you can take it off your shopping list. Please get more scotch. I wrote down a few brands that will appeal to the Malfoys. Draco, Lucius’s son, will probably be visiting regularly over the next month, so we’ll need to purchase more than usual.”

 

Draco will be visiting more over the next month? Does that mean he’ll be visiting Harry? Or someone else? The idea of Draco with another one of the boys makes him panic. He can’t imagine sitting in the lobby, watching Draco flirt or talk with another of the boys, and then walk off to a private room with him.

 

Harry finds Sirius behind the bar with Oliver, who is taking notes with a scroll and quill.

 

When Sirius sees Harry he gives him a warm, but sad smile.

 

“Good morning, Harry. I’m sorry for rushing you back here. I wanted to give you more time, but we have a business matter we have to discuss,” he says, turning to Wood. “Do you have any other questions for me? I need to discuss a contract with Harry. It may take some time.”

 

A contract? Does that mean Draco wants a contract with him? A giddy hope fills Harry.

 

“I believe I got it. I’ll owl if I missed anything. Best be off. Nice to see you Harry.”

 

Harry waves as Wood walks out from behind the bar, and heads toward the exit. Wood looks very different in the jumper and trousers he’s wearing now—almost like an average bloke. Harry supposes those red suits are fitted to highlight the merchandise at Sirius’s house. Harry is curious what his will look and feel like. What will Draco think of him in a suit?

 

“Let’s go to my chambers,” Sirius says.

 

Harry follows him down a hall and to the first door on the right. He’s never been in Sirius’s room before. They did their training in the prep area before. The room is nicer than the one he stayed in with Draco—more personal too. Harry notices the lopsided vase he made for Sirius when he was still in muggle primary school. It’s holding a few roses—as red as the door and the suits in Sirius’s house.

 

“Please sit down.”

 

Harry sits at the edge of the couch, jittery now that this conversation is actually happening.

 

“How are you?” Sirius asks.

 

“I just... I’m sorry I didn’t meet with you. I know that was bad. But I won’t skip out on meetings in the future. I can be reliable—”

 

“Harry, it’s alright. I wanted to be alone after my first time selling sex too. I understand.”

 

“Oh.” Harry hadn’t expected that response. He imagined Sirius’s shift from Godfather to boss would be more defined. But Sirius is still looking at him with kind eyes, and that feels good.

 

“Now, let’s start again. How are you? Please be honest. No feelings are wrong right now. If you’re having feelings you don’t like, we can work on coping strategies. But no feelings are wrong, alright?”

 

Harry takes in a deep breath. Maybe he can be honest with Sirius. Maybe Sirius would understand.

 

“I… liked shagging Draco. It was… nice,” Harry admits.

 

“Sex can be really nice sometimes. In fact, I enjoy it with all of my current clients. Did you know that?” Sirius asks.

 

Harry shakes his head. That surprises Harry. If Sirius likes having sex with all of his clients, why does he not want Harry to become a rent boy? Getting paid to have good sex seems like a pretty amazing job.

 

“Harry, you did so well. Draco was very pleased with your night together. The owl with his payment and a thank you letter arrived for you this morning. Like we discussed previously, I screen all of the mail my boys get through this house, so I sorted it for you. It is customary for clients to tip about 20%, but Draco tipped 50%. I can send off the payment to Carrow today, if you like.”

 

It’s all so soon, it doesn’t feel real. Harry is torn between relief and shame because he realizes part of that money was probably intended as payment for that bit of wanking Harry did without Draco’s request or even permission. Maybe if he asked Draco what he actually wanted, and they specified how much the extra kissing would run, Draco wouldn’t have felt the need to overpay him so much.

 

But the knowledge that Fenrir Greyback will no longer be looking for Harry makes his shoulders relax. He didn’t even know they were tense. Maybe Harry can make it up to Draco in whatever contract might be on the table.

 

“It would be great if you wouldn’t mind sending the money to Carrow. Thanks, Sirius.”

 

Sirius nods. “Here is the letter Draco sent.”

 

The folded paper Sirius hands over is thick parchment, and the handwriting of the short note is small and spindly. Harry stares at the perfect little letters for a moment before reading the words. Because his education ended in his ninth year when his mother was too sick to take care of herself anymore, and because he’s never been to a wizarding school, Harry never learned to write with a quill. Draco’s handwriting enchants him. It’s so Draco, and Harry knows he’s going to ask to take this note him with him, even though it will make him look foolish.

 

_ Dear Harry, _

 

_ Thank you for the other night. It was perfect, and far more than I ever could have wished for. I hope you will consider spending more time with me. There are more firsts we could explore together. _

 

_ Please know you can owl me at any time. _

 

_ Sincerely, _

_ Draco Malfoy _

 

Harry tries not to grin as he reads the letter again and again. There is no mention of money or a contract. In fact, if Harry didn’t know better, he would think the letter came from a lover. Harry likes that a lot more than he should.

 

“Could I keep it?” Harry asks Sirius.

 

Sirius gives him a sad smile. “Yes. But I wouldn’t recommend it. If I got a letter and a tip like that from a client I would politely remind him that we’re in a business arrangement the next time we met.”

 

That gives Harry a secret thrill. He knows that he doesn’t hide it from Sirius very well.

 

“Should I tell Draco that you’re no longer in the business? Now that you’ve paid off Carrow, there’s no need for you to continue here. I’m sure Florean Fortescue would give you your job back—”

 

“I want to be a rent boy,” Harry says.

 

“But you have a chance at a normal life now,” Sirius continues, “You could do anything—”

 

“I want to be a rent boy.”

 

Sirius sighs. “I’ll make you a deal, alright? You say you want to be a rent boy now. I understand. What are your other alternatives? I know you hate working in the ice cream parlor. But Draco is willing to pay you 600 Galleons to enter into an exclusive contract with him for one month.”

 

Harry’s mouth drops.

 

“Here is my bargain. During that month I will teach you everything I know about the business while you fuck Draco to your heart’s content. After it’s all over, you can make a choice. Stay at the brothel or use Draco’s money to go to trade school. No one else in the wizarding world will know you’ve done sex work. You could be a dragon wrangler or a healer’s assistant—anything you want. If you choose that option, I won’t take my 30% cut. You get to keep every cent. Which means you’d walk away with 600 galleons to start a new life. There’s just one thing I want in return,” Sirius says.

 

Because, of course, there’s a catch.

 

“Every contract like this has a list of restrictions. These are services you are not willing to perform. I have a suggested list I’d like you to use for your contract with Draco. You can certainly add things to this list, but I’d like you to not subtract anything from it.”

 

Sirius hands Harry a second piece of paper. The first thing at the top of the page is kissing on the mouth. Half of the list are terms Harry has never heard before. Like the third one: “Watersports on the face.” Which implies watersports elsewhere would be acceptable.

 

“What does watersports mean?”

 

Sirius smiles. “Some of our clients like to urinate on their sexual partners.”

 

Harry’s eyes widen. Sirius laughs.

 

“It’s not so bad, if you can get past the smell. If it makes you feel better, that is a service I am not willing to perform either. I can cross out the ‘on the face’ if you like, and take it off the table completely. Some clients are very interested in watersports, but I don’t imagine it will be a dealbreaker for Draco.”

 

Harry nods, because he isn’t ready for something like that yet.

 

“What is age play?”

 

Sirius looks mildly uncomfortable as he explains, “There are clients who may like you to pretend that you’re younger than you are. Much, much younger. I put this on your list specifically because you do have a very… innocent look. And if you stay in the business, you may need to decide if this is something you’re comfortable doing. Sometimes clients like to roleplay that they are much younger. That is something I have been asked to participate in. For me, it depends on the client. None of the clients I have chosen to keep ask me to do that sort of roleplay. It isn’t something that interests me.”

 

Harry is beginning to understand why Sirius doesn’t want him to be a rent boy.

 

“Is fisting… like with someone’s fist? Because that sounds… painful.” Harry asks.

 

“Yes. I don’t recommend fisting to a new prostitute. If you are curious, I have a few clients who enjoy it immensely, and I trust would not hurt you. But I won’t sign off on something like that until after your first year. Fisting is a part of one of my contracts, and it is the main reason I still choose to see that client.”

 

That was definitely more than Harry wanted to know. Way more than he wanted to know. Ugh.

 

“Harry, if you choose to work for me as a rent boy, we will talk about sex. All of the time. As you may recall, I didn’t want you to do this. I still don’t want you to do this. But these conversations are important if you’re going to do sex work.”

 

Harry gets that, but he’s had enough sex education from his Godfather for one day. He hands back the list, and says, “Alright. Except for the kissing. Draco likes that. I don’t want it to be off the table.”

 

Sirius sighs. “Yes, I know. That’s the deal. You don’t have to pay my 30% cut if you go to trade school, and if you don’t kiss Draco.”

 

Harry doesn’t understand. “Why?”

 

“Because Draco is a Malfoy. It isn’t a good idea to develop feelings for him. Trust me when I tell you that the Malfoys aren’t known to be kind to people or creatures they consider beneath them. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

 

Harry opens his mouth to defend Draco, until he remembers how Draco treated Winky. He wasn’t mean, exactly. But he wasn’t nice either.

 

“Is that why you didn’t tell me Draco was a virgin too?”

 

Sirius looks away from Harry.

 

“I’m sorry about that. I should have said something. I just didn’t want you to get attached. I know that Draco is handsome. But you don’t really know him yet. Get to know him before you make any assumptions about his character, alright?”

 

Harry has a hard time believing that Draco is secretly cruel. But there has to be a reason why Sirius is worried.

 

“You said Draco’s father arranged this. Is he a client here?” Harry asks.

 

Sirius gives him a bitter smile. “He’s my client, Harry. Draco looks exactly like Lucius did back when we were young. I understand the allure. But be careful, alright?”

 

“Alright. I promise.”

 

Harry isn’t sure if he’s lying or if he actually plans to be cautious with Draco. When Harry still takes the letter with him after going through the details of the contract for the better part of an hour, Sirius doesn’t say anything. He just hugs Harry hard, and tells him to be back by 7:00.

 

***

 

There are many different kinds of rich.

 

Some wizarding families have new money, and Draco’s father sneers at them behind their backs while they throw it around. Some families, like the Malfoys, have money so old, it brings power to their name and presence even before they enter a room. And then there are those families with has-been money. Their estates are still large, but they echo from the emptiness that comes from selling off family heirlooms to maintain appearances until it becomes impossible for them to stop pretending that their money is gone.

 

The Bulstrodes haven’t stopped pretending yet, but the barely furnished rooms of their mansion make it clear how much they need the Black fortune. Milicent sits on the other end of the table in the dining room as she and Draco take their tea together.

 

She has the build of a beater, and an alto voice to match. Her hair is shorter than Draco’s along her neck, then tousled into a shag that sweeps across her hairline in all of it’s blue glory. Her mother finally let her dye it when she promised to use magical lengthener on it for the wedding. In the meantime, she is unapologetically butch in a way his father has complained about almost constantly since the engagement became official, with the exception of the makeup Millicent finally deigned to use after her girlfriend, Luna, said it looked nice on her during the Yule Ball.

 

Yes, Millicent has a girlfriend.

 

Yes, that is why Draco chose her.

 

“So, I want to hear about this brothel,” Millicent says, taking a bite of a piece of toast that Draco knows from personal experience tastes more like sawdust than bread. Their house elf is hopeless at baking. “You’re holding out on me, Draco.”

 

“It’s run by my first cousin, once removed, actually. Sirius Black,” Draco begins, knowing this will spark Millicent’s interest.

 

“Really? That’s fascinating. How on earth did your father find it?” Millicent asks, and Draco feels sort of guilty. He should have told Millicent this by now.

 

“My father is a client, actually. Sirius’s client.”

 

Millicent covers her mouth with her hand. “Catch me a nargle, and throw away the mistletoe. Are you telling me that your father has a kept man? Your father? Mr. ‘I won’t come out until I’m dead, and so no one else can either?’ That father?”

 

“One and the same.”

 

She purses her lips and raises one eyebrow. “How long have you been keeping this juicy tidbit of information from me?”

 

Draco winces. “Since last week?”

 

“You, tosser. You never tell me anything. Alright. Your cousin is running a brothel and buggering your father. Go on…”

 

Draco smiles. He didn’t agree to marry Millicent just because she might be gayer than he is.

 

“I don’t actually know who’s buggering who…”

 

Millicent laughs. “Go on…”

 

“It’s on Knockturn Alley. There’s no sign or anything. Just this random red door, and when you walk in there are all of these fit men in red suits offering you scotch.”

 

“This sounds like a Draco Malfoy wet dream.” Millicent says.

 

“It was, a bit.”

 

“So did you bonk any of them? Have your days of being a broody virgin finally come to an end?”

 

Draco rolls his eyes. This isn’t the first time she’s teased Draco about his nonexistent sex life. Of course, Millicent hasn’t been a virgin for ages. The infidelity clause in their marriage contract is more for her than for him.

 

“I might have.”

 

She gasps. “What? Seriously? Tell me everything.”

 

So Draco does. Not exactly everything, but a lot. Millicent has certainly told him her fair share of explicit stories in the past, so he doesn’t have to be embarrassed. He describes Harry, and all of those unguarded moments when did something too awkward to be fake. He describes how effortlessly handsome Harry is, and how their night together was everything he hoped for. It’s nice to talk about it with Millicent who smiles and sighs at all of the right places. When he’s done Millicent is resting her chin on her hand, her elbow on the table, and there’s a silly grin on her face.

 

“You’re such a romantic. And a sap. You’re totally falling in love with your rent boy. Fuck, Draco, what are you going to do?”

 

“I don’t know. Spend an amazing amount of our money on him?” Draco says, quite honestly. Even this morning, when his father refused to pay for the tip and extras Draco wanted to compensate Harry for, Draco slipped in an extra hundred galleons of the money Millicent’s parents had gifted him at their engagement party. Harry needs to know that Draco will always be generous. Maybe if he’s generous enough, Harry will consider extending the month-long contract. Draco has to hope.

 

Millicent chuckles. “I’m in full support of this lifestyle choice.”

 

“Before or after we figure out a way to conceive a child without actually banging?” Draco asks.

 

Millicent swats at him. Hard.

 

“You’re ruining my romance buzz here. Don’t bring up topics that will only lead to me wanting to vomit. But for the record, I bought this muggle device called a turkey baster, and I do have a plan. Luna did the research. Damn, that girl is it for me, Draco. She’s like an absent-minded angel with a tongue that won’t quit. Not during a conversation of course…”

 

“I know what you mean, you don’t have to spell it out for me.”

 

Millicent laughs. “Bringing up vagina-related topics with you in the room is never not hilarious.”

 

“You’re the one who didn’t want to talk about the conception thing.”

 

“That’s because conception involves semen, and everyone can agree that semen is gross.”

 

Draco feels himself blush as he thinks of Harry spurting on his stomach as they both came in Harry’s hand.

 

“Ugh, seriously? You can’t agree with that anymore? Maybe this marriage isn’t going to work out after all.”

 

Draco smiles, because for the first time, he thinks it actually might.

 

***

 

Harry isn’t sure if he’s supposed to be naked again. It’s what the contract stated last time, but this time there weren’t as many details. Harry doesn’t want to wear his clothes in front of Draco. Even his nicest pair of trousers is pretty ratty, and nothing like the nice suit Draco showed up in their first night together. But he doesn’t want to look like he’s too anxious to speed things along either. Of course, if he doesn’t take off his clothes, maybe Draco will feel like Harry is confused about what he’s getting paid to do.

 

He actually is a little confused. Of course, there will be the sex. Harry has definitely been thinking about that. But will there be other bits to the contract too? Like talking? Harry has mixed feelings about the possibility of that. On the one hand, he does want to get to know Draco. Sirius has to be wrong. Maybe Draco’s father is awful, but Draco is different. However, if they end up talking too much, Draco will probably notice how generally inept Harry is at conversation. He gets along fine with his mates, but they talk about things like how to predict the size of a bloke’s bollocks, and they usually have those conversations when they’re all pissed. He doesn’t imagine Draco would want to talk about stuff like that. And he doesn’t imagine that it would be a good idea to drink much around Draco. He already forgets himself enough as it is.

 

Harry wonders what Draco likes to talk about. And then he wonders about his clothes again. He doesn’t have an official red suit yet, so it would probably be best to take them off. After he does he hides them under the bed like last time because he isn’t sure what to do with them. Maybe Draco will think he’s just perpetually naked. Which is weird, right? He thinks about putting his clothes on again, then thankfully, there’s a knock at the door.

 

“It’s Draco,” a voice behind the door says. 

 

Harry’s stomach feels suddenly full of butterflies, and he has to tell himself to be cool. Should he open the door, or should he say “come in?” Is that too common?

 

The door opens slowly, and Draco steps in, closing it behind him. When he sees Harry his eyes wander all over his body, and Harry is horrified to discover that’s all it takes for him to get the beginnings of an erection. Draco notices, of course, and stares.

 

“Um, hello,” Harry says.

 

Draco’s eyes dart up to meet his. “Good evening. Sorry. You’re… a bit distracting.”

 

“Sorry, I can put my clothes on. I wasn’t sure what you wanted because I don’t have my red suit yet, and it didn’t specify in the contract, so I just—”

 

“No. I mean, distracting is good,” Draco interrupts.

 

Naked it is then. Harry remembers that he should be taking off Draco’s tie. He steps closer to Draco, taking in the scent of him. Merlin’s beard, Draco even smells rich—of cologne that’s more a hint than anything. When he reaches for Draco’s tie this time, Draco doesn’t flinch, he just bites his lip, and damn if Harry doesn’t want to kiss him. He suddenly regrets making that deal with Sirius. But he did, and now he can’t back out.

 

Draco’s tie is looser than it was the other night, and slides off easily. When he puts it on the bed where Draco set all of his clothes before, Draco gives him this intense look before taking a deep breath and saying, “Maybe you could take the rest off too.” His voice is timid, like he isn’t certain that he should ask, like he didn’t just pay Harry an enormous amount of money to do exactly things like that for an entire month.

 

Harry starts with the buttons on Draco’s jacket, which looked easy to unbutton the other night, but are surprisingly tight. He gets them undone, but not without manhandling them a bit. He likes running his fingers along the warmth of Draco’s shoulders as he pushes his hands underneath the jacket, and pulls it off. He likes the way Draco closes his eyes even better. Harry can’t help it. As he leans in to take the jacket in one hand behind Draco’s back in order to transfer it to the bed, he brushes his lips against Draco’s throat. Draco’s breath catches.

 

He tosses the jacket a little too haphazardly onto the bed, and it slides down the edge, until it falls into a wrinkled clump on the floor.

 

Harry bends his knees to pick it up, but Draco wraps his fingers around Harry’s right wrist, and guides it to the top button of his shirt. Harry looks at Draco uncertainly, and Draco shifts closer—so close their lips are almost touching. But instead of kissing Harry, he slowly and gently rubs his nose against Harry’s, leaving Harry’s skin tingling.

 

Draco kisses Harry’s cheek, his jaw, and the soft spot just under Harry’s ear. Then Harry feels the wet heat of Draco’s tongue as it touches his skin. Draco sucks on Harry’s neck, Harry arching into his mouth and grasping at Draco’s shirt as his breath quickens.

 

Harry remembers he’s supposed to be taking Draco’s clothes off, which is still not happening, so as Draco sucks he fumbles with Draco’s buttons. The pressure of Draco’s lips and teeth deepens, and Harry is hard as a rock now. The buttons are not coming loose, and there’s no way whatever Draco is doing right now isn’t going to leave a mark.

 

Draco breaks away, and whispers, “Sorry.”

 

Harry smiles, and finishes unbuttoning Draco’s shirt. His fingers are still clumsier than he would like, but he finally pulls the shirt down Draco’s back where it gets stuck on the cuffs.

 

“The cuff links,” Draco says, and Harry wants to die of embarrassment. Draco deftly removes his own cufflinks, and then slides off his shoes, pulling at his belt himself, because apparently Harry can’t figure out how to undress him. When Draco’s trousers and pants come off Harry sees that Draco is hard too, and that makes him feel better. Harry wonders what he’ll get to do with Draco tonight. He wants to taste Draco again, but he’d also like Draco inside of him. He wonders what Draco will pick. 

 

Draco steps closer to Harry wrapping his arms around him, pressing his cock against Harry’s and sighing with his eyes squeezed tight. Draco brings their foreheads together, and rubs Harry’s nose with his own again. There’s no clearer way Draco could say, “I wish I was kissing you right now” while also saying, “But I won’t because I know that isn’t what you want.” Harry kisses Draco just to the left of his lips, and Draco holds him tighter.

 

“Is… oral sex alright?” Draco asks, as if they didn’t just sign a contract today that specified all of that.

 

“Yeah. I mean, how do you want to do it? Lying down or standing up or—”

 

“On the bed, I think. That would be better, right?” Draco says, like Harry would know. And maybe Harry should know. He’s supposed to be getting trained on this stuff at some point. But so far Sirius has mostly gone over prep, and a lot of generalized “prostitution might seem like this, but it’s actually like this” stuff, which doesn’t seem very useful right now. Harry doesn’t even know how to suck a guy off. I mean, his mates have talked about it before, but Draco is surely expecting him to know more about how to please a guy than what he’s heard at the pub.

 

Draco walks toward the bed, keeping his arm hooked around Harry’s waist, guiding them both onto the turned down sheets. Draco pushes Harry down onto his back, climbing on top of him. Which… could be fun. Maybe Draco wants to be on top while Harry sucks him off. That’s fine. He opens his mouth to ask if he should move at all, when Draco lies right on top of him, and then Harry can’t think. The pressure of Draco’s skin on his is solid and warm, and makes his entire body light up.

 

“Is this alright?” Draco asks.

 

Harry nods because he’s not sure he can speak. Draco’s body moves, rubbing the entire upper half of their bodies together, including the hardness of Draco’s cock that pokes at Harry’s stomach. Harry’s breath picks up as Draco does it again, and actually moans in Harry’s ear. Harry’s hands find Draco’s ass and hold it down as his hips rock up to meet the friction of Draco’s body.

 

“Ohhh. That’s… really good. I could come from just…” Draco’s voice whispers in Harry’s ear as Harry bucks up against him again, their dicks sliding against each other, the slight weight of Draco’s balls resting on Harry’s as Harry’s fingers dig into Draco’s ass.

 

Harry wants to taste Draco, but this is amazing too, and even better when Draco’s hand reaches between them and encircles around Harry’s cock. Harry arches against Draco, the back of his head pushing into the bed. Then Draco’s body slides down, his ass suddenly out of reach. When he looks down he can see Draco’s mouth open before he feels a wet heat immerse his tip.

 

Harry’s hips jerk with surprise, and he becomes instantly embarrassed as Draco’s head pops up, letting Harry’s cock plop out of his mouth.

 

“Sorry, is this alright?” Draco asks.

 

“Uh, yeah. Of course, I just thought… you said oral, so I thought you wanted me to…”

 

Draco smiles, and Harry likes how mischievous he looks in that moment. Sort of like a blond Peter Pan. He doesn’t even ask Harry to explain himself further, he just takes Harry into is mouth again, and Harry can feel the pressure of Draco’s tongue exploring, sliding in underneath Harry’s loose foreskin for a moment before pulling the foreskin back, and dragging his tongue along the base of Harry’s head. His entire body tenses, his breath coming in gasps as Draco worries his tongue back and forth along that sensitive area. Then Draco takes him in deeper into his mouth, his hands grasping at his base. How is Draco so good at this? Isn’t he supposed to be a virgin too? But those thoughts float away as Draco begins to bob up and down on Harry’s cock, his grey eyes looking at Harry, his hand pumping with his mouth. When his other finger creeps past Harry’s balls and further down to find the place where he’s prepped and wet. When Draco pushes just a bit of his dry finger up Harry’s ass, speeding up his mouth and his hand, Harry clutches the sheets and says, “Fuck, Draco, I’m going to come in your mouth, Fuck!” Draco doesn’t pull back. His mouth rides Harry through the orgasm, his lips relaxing at the end, letting the cum dribble back onto Harry. He dips his head to the side of Harry’s hips, wiping his mouth on the sheets, then closes his mouth experimentally, almost as if he’s deciding if he likes the taste of Harry’s cum.

 

Harry’s breath slows, and he lets his head fall back into the bed.

 

“Thank you,” Harry says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. He certainly can’t accuse Draco of not actually being a virgin because he gives mind-blowing head.

 

“Was it… alright?” Draco asks.

 

“No, it was awful. That’s why I just came loads into your mouth.”

 

Draco gives him that smile again, and climbs up on the bed, lying down next to Harry.

 

“It’s just… there was this one time my friend Millicent and I found this naughty book in my father’s study, and there was a chapter about… that. So I was wondering if any of it was good, or just some bollocks in a sex book, you know?”

 

Harry wants to laugh. Draco is the only one in this room who knows anything about oral sex, and he’s not the prostitute.

 

“I’m afraid I won’t be half-way as good as you, then. Because I haven’t read any naughty books,” Harry says.

 

“Aren’t you going through training?” Draco asks, and Harry’s heart plummets. Draco did want him to be trained on this already. And now he’s going to disappoint Draco, just like he did when he failed to get his clothes off. Maybe Draco will change his mind, and back out of their contract.

 

“I… um. We didn’t get to that bit yet. Sorry,” Harry says, looking away from Draco.

 

Draco reaches his arm across Harry’s chest, scooting closer until he can press their foreheads together, rubbing his nose against Harry’s again.

 

“It’s alright. That’s… nice. I thought I’d come in here, and you’d be flawless at all of this, and the only things I would know would be from some book I read a few years ago that might not even be true.”

 

That’s sweet. No matter what Sirius says, Draco is sweet. Harry finds himself rubbing his nose against Draco’s too. Because it feels good. And because it makes Draco smile.

 

“Now it’s your turn. Do you have any tips for me?” Harry asks.

 

“You can’t expect me to reveal my limited secrets. Soon you’ll learn how to give head from the great Sirius Black, and where will I be then?”

 

That’s true. Maybe he can make Draco’s eyes roll back into his head then. For now, he tries to remember what felt good when Draco’s mouth was on him when he rolls over, rising to his knees, and crawling down to Draco’s hips. Draco smells clean, and a little of something else like sex. Harry likes the smell. There comes a moment of selfish curiosity when Harry stares at the pink tip of Draco’s cock—still covered halfway by his pale foreskin—and he dips his head to lick it, grabbing the base with one of his hands, so he can push his tongue underneath that layer of skin, rolling it up until his tongue is tucked underneath. Draco gasps, and Harry guesses that’s a good thing, so he circles his tongue around the head, in between the foreskin and Draco’s cock, and it’s enough to make him half-hard again. He looks up at Draco whose chest is arching up, his mouth open, his eyes closed. Harry lowers his whole mouth on Draco, pulling back his tongue, so he can take Draco deeper inside. Draco is tense, and he lets out a little moan as Harry pushes his tongue into his slit. Harry licks the base of Draco’s cock to get it wet, then slides his fingers up and down Draco’s shaft, his mouth encompassing the head. It’s not as difficult as he thought it would be, and it’s thrilling to be touching Draco like this. He can taste something bitter and a little musky as his strokes quicken. He reaches down with his other hand to touch Draco’s balls, which are larger than his own. Draco’s legs shift when he does this, his breath coming hard, and Harry can tell he’s close. He swallows Draco down deeper, to the edge of his throat, and then further still, relaxing his throat muscles. He heard about this at the pub. His friend Seamus made a few crude jokes about it the last time they met for drinks, and Harry wants to try it. He gags—hard and loud, and Draco’s head snaps up.

 

“Harry, are you alright?”

 

Harry nods, and tries it again. He still feels the need to gag, but it’s not as powerful this time. He learns how far he can take Draco’s cock into his throat before his body will reject it, and then he speeds up the motion, using his fingers the way Draco did. He can feel Draco wriggle underneath him, feel his cock grow slightly in his mouth, and then the light pressure of Draco tapping his shoulder. Draco doesn’t need to tell him, he knows what’s coming next. That bitter, musky taste explodes as Draco spurts onto his tongue and the roof of his mouth. He waits until Draco is finished before pulling back, letting Draco’s cum ooze out of his mouth, wiping his lips on the sheets the way Draco did.

 

“Thank you,” Draco says, his eyes relaxed. Harry crawls over, and lies halfway on top of him, remembering how good Draco’s weight felt earlier.

 

“Am I crushing you?” Harry asks.

 

“A little. But it’s a good kind of crush,” Draco tells him, sleepily. Draco kisses Harry’s cheek, and without thinking, Harry turns his face, and kisses Draco’s lips.

 

Draco stiffens.

 

Fuck. What was Harry thinking?

 

“I thought you didn’t want—”

 

“Sirius doesn’t want us to kiss,” Harry blurts out.

 

Draco gives him a small smile. “Oh. I thought you were the one. I thought you didn’t like it from before.”

 

“No, I just… I promised him I wouldn’t. He just worried… well, I’m not very professional, and I liked your letter too much, so he—”

 

“You liked my letter?” Draco asks, his smile deepening.

 

“Yeah… Thank you.”

 

Draco’s eyes flick to where his jacket lies on the floor. “I forgot. I’m sorry.” He scoots out from underneath Harry, reaching down and grabbing what looks like two women’s compacts out of an inside pocket in his jacket. They’re gold with intricate flower and leaf detailing.

 

“It’s a gift. My father said it’s customary to offer a gift on the first night of an arrangement like this. Well, obviously it would normally be a man with his mistress, but…” Draco trails off and blushes. “They’re communicating mirrors. Here, open it. I’ll show you.”

 

Draco hands Harry one of the compacts. He opens it to find a circular piece of glass inside. Draco opens the other, and looks back at him through the glass.

 

“I guess they were all the rage in the 1700’s. There aren’t many of them left anymore. Communicating via floo is more convenient because the mirrors don’t capture sound. But Sirius said you didn’t have a fireplace, so I thought we could use them to communicate with each other during the contract. Afterward, well, they’re yours.”

 

Draco doesn’t have to say that delicate magical items like these are worth a fortune. Especially if they’re centuries old. But more than that, this is a way he can see Draco outside the brothel, a way they can talk where there aren’t warm towels to wipe off their cum in the corner—where there isn’t a charm cast over the room that will bind Draco in ropes if Harry says his safe word. It’s a huge, wonderful, perfect gift. Harry shifts so his body is resting on Draco’s again, and lowers his head to give Draco another kiss—right on his lips.

 

“Mmmmm,” Draco moans, threading his hand through Harry’s wild hair. Their lips open, their tongues diving into each other’s mouths, and suddenly the kiss is desperate and fierce. They’re devouring each other the way they’ve wanted to all night—sucking and biting and pressing so hard against each other that Harry’s lips will be pink from the kissing he wasn’t supposed to do tonight.

 

When he lifts his head, Draco stares into his eyes with an intensity that locks Harry in. They stay like that for a few long beats before Harry says, “Thank you.”

 

When he leans in to kiss Draco again, he knows he should feel guilty. He’s lying to Sirius when all Sirius is trying to do is keep him safe. But Sirius is wrong. And this feels right. Harry isn’t sure if anything has ever felt so right before.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who are here for Remus and Sirius, there will be plenty of smut and fluff for you in the next chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

Draco wants to stay the night, but he knows he’ll want to stay with Harry every single night of their contract. If he asks to sleep next to Harry too many times, Harry might not want a contract extension. He has to let Harry have space, he has to prove to Harry that he won’t ask for too much, that he won’t be too demanding. So when Harry pulls away from the kiss, smiling at him, Draco says, “I have to go.”

Harry’s face falls. “Oh.”

“I mean, if you want me to stay, I could—”

“No. Sorry. You’re the one who’s paying for this.” Harry looks miserable as he says this. And what’s worse is that he tries to smile anyway, tries to pretend that it’s fine.

“When can I see you again?” Draco says, trying to change the subject.

Harry runs his hand through his hair. “I’m open. Just whatever is good for you.”

“But how often should I come? A few times a week? Is that too much?” Draco asks. When he asked his father this same question earlier that day his father was livid. He insisted that Harry was being paid so much, he should be at Draco’s beck and call every second of every day for the next month. But Draco doesn’t want it to be like that.

Harry stares down at his lap. “I thought… it doesn’t matter…”

“It does matter. I want this arrangement to work well for you too,” Draco tries to explain.

“I thought the contract was for every night. I mean, I get that you’re probably too busy to see me that much. But... I’m free every night. So, you can just come whenever you have time. It’s not too much. The only other thing I have going is training, and Sirius wanted to plan that around you.”

Every night. Draco would love to see Harry every night. 

“But surely you have time that you normally spend with family or mates. I wouldn’t want to interfere with that,” Draco says.

Harry’s shoulders tense. “I don’t have any family. And my mates sometimes go to the pub on the weekends, but it isn’t a regular thing. We only go if… well, if we have money.”

Harry doesn’t have any family? Or money either. Which shouldn’t be surprising. He sold his virginity, after all. What did Draco think? That Harry had done that for fun? Or maybe that was what he allowed himself to hope. Suddenly, their arrangement feels wrong to him. Like he’s taking advantage of Harry being down on his luck. And he is, isn’t he? Guilt wracks through Draco. He had allowed himself to hope that Harry liked being with him too, but maybe he’s just doing all of this because he doesn’t have a choice.

“I’m sorry about your family,” Draco says.

Harry shrugs. “It’s alright. I mean I had my mum until two years ago. Witch’s consumption.”

Draco’s heart aches at that. “Mine too. One year. As of last week.”

Harry reaches over and clasps Draco’s hand. He looks into Draco’s eyes for a few long moments.

The consumption ripped through the wizarding community during Draco’s fifth year at Hogwarts, killing at least half of the women, and even more young girls. It went on for years, until families like the Bulstrodes locked their daughters up at home. In the end, it wasn’t a pureblood wizard who developed the potion to cure it. A werewolf brewed a variation of wolfsbane that kept all of the young werewolf girls safe. They shared it with the poor, wandless girls first—the girls who were their friends. The consumption hit the pureblood families the worst, because they were the last people willing to drink something made by a werewolf.

Draco remembers what it felt like to realize how wrong they all were—and how much that error cost them. The potion to cure his mother was out there when she laid on her deathbed, but his father was too afraid to give it to her.

Draco still hasn’t forgiven him for that.

It’s not like his mother was any less adamant about the marriage to a pureblood girl than his father, but she at least tried to understand the dread it gave Draco—the hopelessness he felt about getting married to someone he would never love. And now that she’s gone, he’s stuck with this father, who took him to a brothel, rather than try to understand him.

“I don’t really have to go,” Draco confesses. “I just don’t want to ask for too much. ”

Harry gives him a shy smile. “It’s not too much. Stay.”

Harry scoots closer, placing his hand on Draco’s chest, and pushing him down onto the bed. Harry lies next to him, sliding an arm around him.

“You don’t understand. I’ll want to see you every night—stay over every single night.” Draco says, trying to warn Harry. Trying to give Harry a choice in this. Because whatever his father says, Harry deserves this consideration. He deserves a life outside of Draco.

Harry just pulls him closer. “Good.”

Draco closes his eyes.

He wonders what his father will think of that, what Sirius will think of that.

He decides he doesn’t care.

***

Harry feels sleepy and content when he shows up for his appointment with Sirius the next day. He came three times during this time with Draco. Twice last night in Draco’s mouth, and once this morning in Draco’s ass. He also kissed him so many times that Harry knows his lips are swollen and pink. The oral he gave Draco probably didn’t help.

Maybe that’s what he’ll tell Sirius. Draco likes oral. Which is true.

Harry waits in the prep area—a large room in the back of the house where all of the boys take care of some of the more practical aspects of the rent boy business. They each have a cubby labeled with their names. None of the cubbies have doors, just like none of the red suits have pockets. 

Sirius explained the many warding spells and revealing charms he performs to keep drugs out of his house. He made it clear that he wouldn’t make an exception for Harry if he ever found drugs in his body or on his person, Harry would simply be fired on the spot. When Harry tried to explain that he had no interest in drugs, Sirius simply said, “This business changes people. Most brothels use drugs to control their boys or help them deal with the life. We don’t do that here. If a client ever offers you anything, you will call out your safe word, and he will be dealt with. The clients know the rules too.”

Most of the cubbies have jars of lube and bottles of mouthwash. Harry’s jar of lube is almost full. He’s only had to use it twice. He prepped and cleaned himself for Draco both nights they were together, but Draco doesn’t seem interested in Harry that way. Harry’s trying not to be disappointed about that. Draco mentioned switching their first night together, but that doesn’t mean Draco’s ever going to bring it up again, and it’s not like Harry can ask.

There are two armchairs in the corner, opposite from the shower stalls. Harry saw a few of the boys sitting in them last night when he came in to prep. One of them—the bartender Oliver Wood, was talking about something called docking. Harry still doesn’t know what that is. He’s debating whether to ask Sirius. It wasn’t on his list of restrictive acts, which means that Draco could potentially ask for it.

“Good morning, Harry,” Sirius says, even though it’s past noon. He’s wearing long, green robes with a huge hood, and carrying a bundle of fabric in his hands. “How was your night with Draco?”

“Um, good? How was… your night?” Harry asks, hoping Sirius’s answer won’t be too specific.

“Well, I spent the evening getting fucked by a banana, so decent enough, I suppose. Definitely sore.”

Harry winces. “Oh…do people ask for that often?”

Sirius smiles. “I’m just messing with you, Harry. I mean, yes, I have been fucked by a banana before, but not last night. I don’t entertain clients on Friday nights. Too busy negotiating for the boys. You ready for a walk?”

Why would they be going on a walk? Harry didn’t imagine that Sirius would be teaching him how to give head outside, and the brothel wasn’t that big.

“A walk?”

“That’s right. Today I’m going to teach you about balance,” Sirius says.

“Balance? What do you mean?”

“Draco Malfoy just told me that you agreed to spend every single night with him for the next month. So we’re going to talk about balance. Work-life balance. And I’m going to show you mine.”

Harry looks at Sirius skeptically. He didn’t know Sirius had a life outside the brothel. Besides Harry, of course. Sirius throws the bundle of fabric he’s been holding at Harry. When Harry catches it, he unravels it to find a hooded robe like Sirius’s. That’s when he realizes where he’s seen a robe like that before.

“That’s a werewolf robe,” Harry says.

“Yes. You can’t apparate into the werewolf settlement, so we’ll need to walk there. It wouldn’t do for people to see you and me walking there, now would it? No one is going to want to fuck us if they think we’re infected. But if you put on that robe no one will look at you twice.”

Harry shrugs on the robe, and Sirius pulls his own hood over his head. Once they’re both hooded Sirius leads him through the brothel and out the front door.

“We are going to apparate as far as we can. We can’t have hooded werewolves walk onto Knockturn Alley from my brothel, now can we?” Sirius asks.

Harry shakes his head.

Sirius pulls out his wand, and grabs Harry’s forearm. Then Harry feels that strange pull on his belly that means Sirius is about to take him somewhere else—somewhere new. When he was younger it was always some tropical location. Sirius liked to take Harry and Lily on holiday over Christmas. When Harry lost his mother it was the moors—large and sweeping and cold. Sirius said it was the perfect place to mourn. The land itself seemed to brood. So Sirius would apparate them in the middle of grass that came up to their elbows—onto earth that squished underneath their feet, and Harry would scream out into the bleak, damp night. Sirius would let him. Then Sirius would hold him while he cried.

Tonight they end up on a street that’s even dodgier than the one outside Harry’s flat.

“Now, Harry, I need you to listen to me. The wards I made for the settlement are strong and complex. You won’t be able to get in if you mean the werewolves any harm. I need you to clear your mind of any angry thoughts,” Sirius says.

Sirius made the wards for the werewolf settlement? Really?

“Are you a werewolf?” Harry asks.

Sirius gives him a bitter smile. “No, Harry. Just because I want the werewolves to be safe, doesn’t mean I’m one of them.”

Harry looks down at his feet. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know what you meant. It’s alright. But we’re about to enter the settlement now, so you have to start thinking about what you’re saying, alright? Also, you are not to stare at their bite marks. Do you understand me? You are to watch your eyes. You are to be polite. This is the one place in the world where they feel safe, and I will not bring you into their home unless you can behave yourself.”

Harry nods.

“There are children in the settlement. Some of them were terribly mauled by the werewolf who turned them. You are not to stare. You are not show them the horror you feel when you see their faces. Do you understand?”

Harry nods again.

“These people mean everything to me. Every one of them is human, just like you or me. One bad stroke of luck for either of us would put us in their shoes.”

Harry knows that. The nightmares of Fenrir Greyback that used to haunt him are still fresh in his memory.

“I understand. I’ll be polite. I promise.”

Sirius gives him a warm smile. “ I believe you. Come. I want to introduce you to my husband.”

Sirius has a husband?

As they walk down the broken sidewalks and past the houses with boarded up windows, Harry sees an old man sitting on the front porch of a tidy, but small wooden house. Harry is grateful Sirius warned him about the bite marks. The man’s face is almost half-gone—the right half still red and showing a white hint of exposed bone.

“Werewolf bites don’t heal properly, Harry. Not ever. Remember that,” Sirius says.

As they walk further into the settlement there are more people with bites on their faces—either sitting on porches, or hanging laundry on lines in their front yards. But Harry doesn’t see any children yet. They walk next to complexes that are even more dilapidated than his own. There are small purple flowers growing everywhere, and Harry notices that some of the apartment complexes have large gardens. It’s a bizarre combination of poverty and beauty.

“All of the bites are on their faces,” Harry says, wondering just how many people Fenrir has turned.

“Yes. Now that all werewolves have access to a reliable source of wolfsbane, accidental bites are a lot less common.”

Harry wasn’t aware that wolfsbane had become any easier to get. All he knew about wolfsbane was what he learned during the end of the witch’s consumption—that it was impossible to brew without a wand, and most of the ingredients were prohibitively expensive. There was a rumor that a hooded man gave out free doses of the strain of wolfsbane that cured witch’s consumption just outside Ollivander’s abandoned wand shop, but Harry never knew if that was actually true. It seemed unlikely.

“Where do they get it?” Harry asks.

Sirius smiles as they reach the end of the street where a small brick house sits. The front yard is thick with those purple flowers, and Harry can hear the laughter of children— probably coming from the back yard. Sirius doesn’t guide him to the door, but around the front yard and toward the back of the house.

There is a crowd of small children gathered around a tall man dressed in a cardigan and tweed slacks. He has one of those purple flowers in his hand, and he’s pointing to its petals.

“So, do we ever eat this plant?” he asks, and the crowd of small heads shake while one of them calls out “No! It gives you a belly ache!”

The man looks down at the crowd with a kind smile. The bite mark on his face is deep, but he still has a strong jaw and striking green eyes.

“Well, yes, that’s true. But it’s actually a bit worse than that. It will make you very, very sick. Remember, we grow these flowers for potions, not for eating.”

The man notices Sirius and Harry standing there in their robes. The group of children turn to look at what has caught the attention of their teacher. Sirius pulls back his hood, and one of the children— a little girl with pigtails whose right eye socket is pink and empty grins and shouts “Padfoot!”

Harry has a hard time keeping his face in check as children who are missing ears or a chunk of their nose come barreling toward Sirius, who kneels to greet them with open arms.

“Hey, I brought a friend today. This is Lightning. That’s the special name all of you can call him. I used to call him that when he was a kid because he eats so fast,” Sirius says, and Harry smiles, quick to wipe away a stray tear that he couldn’t hold back.

The girl with the pigtails leans into to Sirius for a hug, then turns to Harry. “Did you bring us something?”

Sirius laughs. “Lightning didn’t know that he was going to meet you today. But I have something for you, Rose.”

Sirius pulls a coin purse from his back pocket, and passes out a full sickle to each child—money that Harry knows he doesn’t have.

“Take that to your grown ups, alright?” Sirius says. The kids nod, pocketing the money.

“You know what? I think it’s time for lunch,” the teacher calls out, and the kids are racing back to him. The teacher gestures for Harry and Sirius to follow as he opens the back door to his house, and all of the children file inside.

The house is bigger on the inside—a long white table with short legs sitting in the dining room, and a tidy, but small kitchen on the other side of the room, where a stack of metal plates sits on the countertop.

A few loaves of bread, a bag of apples, and jars of peanut butter and jelly are retrieved from out of a bottom cupboard. Harry pulls back his sleeves, and starts slathering slices of bread with jelly, cutting each sandwich into squares. Each child waits patiently for their plate, then takes a seat at the table. Sirius is passing around lidded cups full of water, talking with the children with an animated exuberance that Harry hasn’t seen in years. When Sirius slips his arm around the teacher, it would be easy to miss how he slides the coin purse he offered the children money from into the teacher’s cardigan pocket. But no one could miss the way Sirius pulls out his wand—his valuable wand that he doesn’t let any of the boys touch while he performs prophylactic spells on them every night—and gives it to the teacher.

“I can take it from here,” Sirius says, leaning in to kiss the man.

The teacher nods, walking toward Harry, holding out his hand. “I’m Remus. It’s nice to meet you. Padfoot has told me a lot about you.”

So this is Sirius’s husband. They can’t actually be husbands, of course. Werewolves aren’t allowed to marry. But Harry certainly isn’t going to bring that up.

“Thanks. I haven’t heard anything about you, actually,” Harry admits, wincing.

“Yes. It’s important that Padfoot’s time here remain a secret. Come with me. I have a few things to show you.”

Harry looks back at Sirius, and Sirius shoos him away, telling one of the children to close her mouth while she’s chewing. Harry follows Remus down a dark hall to a door that he mutters a spell to open. The room they walk into has a line of steaming cauldrons on a sturdy oak table, and is full of cupboards that are bursting at the seams with dried plants and labeled jars.

That’s when Harry realizes where Sirius has brought him, and who Remus is.

“You make wolfsbane here,” Harry says.

Remus nods. “Yes. We grow most of the ingredients ourselves now. The whole werewolf community helps. But I’m the only one with access to a wand, so yes, I make wolfsbane here.”

“Did you… make the other wolfsbane?” Harry asks.

“If you’re referring to the type of wolfsbane that cures witch’s consumption, yes. I brewed that here as well. Stroke of luck, really.”

Harry doubts that as he watches Remus hover over each cauldron, opening a cupboard to pull out a jar, and sprinkle in an orange powder, waving Sirius’s wand. He turns back to look at Harry, gesturing for him to come forward. Harry shuts the door, assuming they don’t want the children in here, and steps closer to the cauldrons.

“Padfoot wants me to tell you our love story. That’s why he brought you here. He wants you to have a normal life. He wants you to find someone you can love without all of the strings and complications of prostitution. Padfoot and I met when he was disowned by his parents, and still recovering from heartbreak. Back then, he was still very much in love with Lucius Malfoy, and he didn’t have eyes for anyone else.”

Lucius Malfoy? Sirius never told Harry they had been a couple.

“I had eyes for him, though. He was dashing, even then. I don’t imagine there has ever been a time when your godfather wasn’t dashing. But as much as I enjoy thinking back on that time when we were both young and knew so little about the realities of the world, I think there’s a story that’s far more important for you to hear— the story of this wand.”

Remus pulls out a stool for Harry, then grabs another for himself. Both men sit, Remus glancing at a pocket watch clasped in his hand, before sliding it back into his pocket.

“Back when Padfoot was still at Hogwarts he was in love with Lucius, and Lucius was in love with him. They made a pact to come out to their families so they could be together. Padfoot went first, and Lucius kept his wand safe. Padfoot’s family disowned him, and tried to disarm him to take his wand away, but luckily he didn’t have it. When he went to tell Lucius what happened, Lucius changed his mind, and abandoned Padfoot. But he still gave him back his wand.

“That wand has kept Padfoot afloat all of these years. That wand allows me to brew enough wolfsbane for this entire community. That wand keeps all of his boys safe from sexually transmitted diseases. That wand is the one thing from Padfoot’s life as a lord that he’s held onto. He sold his body rather than give it up. And the reason why I’m telling you all of this is that he almost sold it a week ago to prevent you from becoming a rent boy.”

Shame washes over Harry. He had no idea.

“I’m sorry,” Harry mutters.

“Don’t be sorry. He told me what happened. You tried to save your mother. Carrow took advantage of you. None of this is your fault. I just want to you to understand what Padfoot would do for you, how much you mean to him. If it wasn’t for those children in the other room, his wand would be gone. There are so many people who expect so much from Padfoot. And he just gives. He gives and he gives and he gives. He never asks for anything in return for himself. So if he asks something from you—whether that be to maintain a work/life balance or to not kiss Draco Malfoy, please give it to him.”

Remus rises, peering inside one of the cauldrons again.

“Now that’s enough advice from me for one day. Would you like to learn how to brew wolfsbane?” Remus asks.

Harry stands too. “Um, I don’t know anything about magic.”

“I didn’t know anything when Padfoot started teaching me either. Best to start now. We can’t have the knowledge of wolfsbane go the way of the wands, now can we? Everyone in this community knows how to make it, and everyone who visits gets to learn too.”

Remus hands Harry Sirius’s wand. Harry looks at the small piece of wood, rolling it in his fingers.

“Now let’s practice,” Remus says, picking up a quill that’s resting on the table. “Swish and flick. Swish and flick.”

***

Draco sits across from his future in-laws. Davina Bulstrode looks nothing like her daughter. She’s tiny and tense, like a wind-up toy that’s been twisted one too many times. Magnus Bulstrode is clearly the source of Millicent’s wide shoulders and heavy jaw. He slams his meaty fist down onto the table. Millicent and Draco both jump a bit in their seats.

“We are done talking about this Lucius!”

To his credit, Draco’s father barely looks ruffled by Magnus’s outburst.

“Mr. Bulstrode, that table has been in my family for three centuries.”

Draco wants to roll his eyes. This is hardly the time to start squabbling about a table.

Davina shifts in her seat. “There’s no way for us to know if the arbiter of the Black estate will even accept a marriage contract without an infidelity clause. Isn’t it Sinistra Lowe? She’s not known for her flexibility. An infidelity contract is standard—”

“An infidelity contract is unrealistic,” Draco’s father interrupts. “And will put us in a position to lose the Black fortune. Be reasonable.”

Magnus’s face is growing a concerning shade of red, and Draco leans away from him, just in case there is another angry outburst.

“Your son can just learn to keep his dick in his pants,” Magnus all but growls.

Draco’s father’s lips turn up ever so slightly. “That really isn’t the issue here, I’m afraid.”

“The issue I see is that your son is a poof!” Magnus yells.

His father takes in a deep breath. “Yes, Mr. Bulstrode. My son is a poof and your daughter is a dyke. That is why we are here.”

Millicent places a hand over her mouth to cover up her smile. Draco wants to smile too. It is pretty funny.

“The infidelity clause is an unnecessary risk. Both Draco and Millicent surely understand the importance of discretion without us having to spell it out in the contract,” Draco’s father says evenly.

Davina and Magnus don’t say anything for a while, then Davina turns to Millicent.

“If we sign this contract without an infidelity clause, you will give us an heir, correct?” Her voice is as tense as her neck muscles.

Millicent doesn’t look at her mother as she nods. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Very well. Let’s just sign it, Magnus.”

Magnus Bulstrode juts out his enormous jaw and gives a curt nod. “Fine.”

As he watches Magnus and Davina dip a quill into the inkpot that spilled over just a touch in the wake of Magnus’s fist earlier, he feels relieved. Now he can be with Harry. Not even his in-laws can stop him.

But he also feels sympathy for Millicent. She’s the one who’s going to have to bear their child while she tries to convince Luna to stay in a relationship that will never be more than what it is. Luna has been flighty lately as she becomes more and more concerned about the wedding. Draco knows Milicent is afraid of losing her.

Draco reaches over and grabs Millicent's hand. All of their parents look momentarily confused. Milicent gives him a smile and squeezes his fingers.

At least if they’re going to do this, they’re going to do it together.

***

Harry spends the afternoon with Lupin and the kids. He discovers that Lupin runs a free daycare for the werewolf parents who work mostly muggle jobs. Harry can tell he genuinely likes the children as he teaches them their letters and their colors. Sirius likes them too. His playful banter with a particularly precocious 4-year-old named Jacob reminds Harry of how Sirius played with him when he was younger.

Harry doesn’t have to be to the brothel until seven that night, so after they are done at the settlement he asks Sirius to apparate him just outside his flat so he can look through a few pamphlets Sirius gave him on trade schools. He’s reading about dragon wrangling when he decides to open the communicating mirror Draco gave him the night before.

He can see Draco, writing on a parchment, his face intense with concentration. Draco must have left his mirror open, with the hope that Harry would open his too. Harry waves at the mirror, hoping the motion will catch Draco’s eye.

Draco glances in his direction, a smile coming to his lips when he sees Harry.

Harry is suddenly worried Draco will see his flat, so he brings the mirror closer, hoping that Draco can only see his face.

Draco pulls out a new sheet of parchment, then writes something on it. He tears off the piece he wrote on, and holds it in front of him until Harry can see Draco’s beautiful script.

Looking forward to tonight.

Harry feels guilty about the thrill that shoots through him after Lupin’s advice earlier today. Harry holds his hand over the mirror as he digs for his own paper and pen. He scribbles on a lined notebook, embarrassed to be writing in print with a pen, but too excited to talk to Draco to let that stop him.

What firsts are we going to explore?

Harry writes this as a direct quote from Draco’s letter, which he admittedly read a few times before picking up the pamphlet on dragon wrangling. He writes it partly in the hope that Draco will want to top him this time. He holds out the message in front of the mirror, and he can see Draco’s eyes read it before picking up his quill again, dipping it, and writing something else. Draco rips another section off the parchment, holding it up for Harry to see while biting his lip. Harry thinks he looks adorable like that, and wishes he could take a photograph.

 

Is there anything you’d like to try?

Harry’s stomach flips. Should he ask for what he really wants, or something he thinks Draco might like? What would Draco like? The last time he topped Draco he briefly wondered about what it might feel like to put his tongue inside of Draco, but then decided that he didn’t really want to. Draco hadn’t cleaned himself up since the night before, and Harry didn’t feel ready for that yet. But maybe it’s something Draco would want.

It’s definitely something Harry would like Draco to do to him.

In the end Harry opts for something different—something he thinks he might be good at. Not because he has any experience, but because he has, well, a lot of foreskin. On the way back from Remus’s house, Harry finally had the courage to ask what Wood meant by docking, and Harry definitely wants to try it.

Do you know what docking means? Harry writes, and shows the message to Draco.

Draco’s face turns that pretty shade of pink that Harry has grown rather fond of.

Draco writes something on the parchment, a small smile playing on his lips.

The book might have mentioned it.

Harry doesn’t need to ask Draco if he’s interested. He can tell by the intensity in Draco’s eyes that he is. That’s all it really takes to get Harry hard. There’s a part of him that wants to show Draco his erection, but he can’t do that. What would Draco think?

To Harry’s surprise it’s Draco who tilts his mirror down, and Harry can see a bulge underneath Draco’s trousers that makes his mouth dry.

Harry scribbles something else, flashing the message to Draco when the mirror tilts back up.

If you’re interested, I could come an hour early.

It’s shameless, and exactly the opposite of what Remus requested earlier that day.

Draco smiles, and writes another message on his parchment.

I’m interested.

***

There is only an hour between when all of the children go home with their parents, and when Sirius has to leave for the brothel. Remus did all of the necessary wand work on the wolfsbane while Sirius watched the kids after Harry left, and so the full hour is all theirs.

It’s not much, but it’s enough.

Remus guides Sirius into the bedroom leaning in for a soft kiss. Sirius lets himself relax against Remus as he’s pushed against the wall, and Remus nuzzles into the crook of Sirius’s neck, taking in a deep breath. Sirius loves how even after all these years, Remus still simply wants to smell him—that half of the time, one good inhale of Sirius’s scent is all it takes to get Remus hard. Sirius slides his hand between their bodies to touch Remus there.

It’s true what they say about werewolf cock. Absolutely all of it is true.

Sirius has fucked hundreds, maybe thousands of men. He’s been in the business for long enough that he’s not even sure how many anymore. But no one is as good as Remus, and no one ever will be.

They just kiss for a while because kissing is still so good. Remus’s stubble rubs against his chin and Remus’s fingers grasp at his hair. Their bodies are flush against one another, and Remus rocks against Sirius, slow and sure and strong. Sirius’s breath picks up as he squeezes Remus’s hard heat, and Remus’s lips press into his neck.

Remus won’t bite him. He’ll never bite him. But he’ll lick and suck at Sirius’s neck until it’s pink enough that his clients later ask if they can do the same.

He always says no.

Tomorrow is the full moon. It’s the one night a month Sirius always takes off. It’s the reason he learned how to become an animagus decades earlier, so he can lie next to Remus on those nights—Remus’s wolf still shaking from the pain of transformation—and be counted as part of the pack. Sirius may not be a werewolf, and he may not be able to show his face when entering and leaving the settlement, but Sirius is still a part of the pack.

Sirius can feel the warm liquid of Remus’s precum on his palm as Remus humps into his hand. Remus begins to let go, starts to let that tiny bit of wolf rise up in him. It’s always this way a few days before the full moon.

“I love you,” Remus whispers, sucking harder on Sirius’s neck.

“I love you too. I want you.”

When they move to the bed Remus is pulling at Sirius’s clothes—too far gone to notice the presence of his own. Sirius takes care of them for him. It’s a dance they’ve performed so many times that Remus almost remembers the steps, even in his distracted state. When they climb into bed, all naked limbs and warm skin, the only clothing left is Remus’s socks.

“You smell like Sirius,” Remus says.

Sirius laughs. “Yes, I imagine I do.”

“That’s my favorite smell.”

Remus is stupidly romantic when he’s like this. Remus’s wolf may be even more in love with Sirius than Remus himself.

“I want to knot you,” Remus tells him, rolling on top of Sirius, and grabbing his ass, his fingers digging into Sirius’s crack.

“Yes,” Sirius says, because even after all this time, he goes weak at the thought of it.

Sirius doesn’t let Remus prep him when he’s like this. But he lets Remus watch. Remus likes to lick and nuzzle his ass while Sirius is kneeling on the bed, his fingers pushing into his own hole. He doesn’t let Remus lube up his own dick either. But Sirius lets Remus take control after that.

It’s not that Sirius hasn’t let people tie him up or gag him or a million other things people like to do to attractive man they’ve just paid to fuck. But nothing compares to this. Letting a werewolf on the cusp of a full moon slide his dick into him—knowing Remus will want to bite, knowing that Remus will knot. It’s a wild display of trust. It’s a wild fuck too.

Remus tries to start off gentle. He always does. But it only takes a few careful thrusts before Remus is pumping in and out of him, and Sirius can feel the full length of Remus inside of him. It’s a lot, and there were times when Remus’s size had felt like more than he could handle. Back when they were both too young to navigate the emotional roller coaster of Sirius selling his body to strangers, and then giving what was left to Remus. Back when the idea of sex had soured in Sirius’s mouth, and bittered him to what he might be able to have with Remus.

But Remus waited. Sirius taught him magic, and in return, Remus taught Sirius how to love again. They didn’t fuck as often as they kissed at first. They didn’t fuck as often as Remus slid his arms around Sirius while he washed the dishes or as often as they slept side by side, Sirius waking Remus with kisses and gentle whispers whenever he had a nightmare about Fenrir Greyback. They were both broken, and they didn’t know how to love each other well. But they knew how to love each other enough to get by until things got better.

Sirius learned how to take back his sexuality—how to enjoy his work and his sex life with Remus. And Remus learned that Sirius truly loved him, regardless of what he did with other men.

Sirius loves how Remus overwhelms him—how he can’t lie back and just go through the motions. Remus is growing inside of him as he pounds into Sirius, the sound of their skin slapping and the squish of the lube reverberating through the room with Remus’s loud breath. Sirius forces himself to relax because Remus is getting impossibly big, that wonderful fullness spreading into delicious discomfort, and the sting of pain that comes with it. He always thinks he’s used to taking Remus’s knot, until that moment when Remus is so huge he can’t pull out again, and then Sirius’s body panics for just a moment, clamping down until Remus howls, and Sirius remembers that he will never be ready to take Remus’s knot. Remus isn’t something you can prepare for with just your fingers and a bit of lube. He’s as big as the moon he fears, and he feels like everything as Sirius grasps at the sheets, and comes so hard he can’t see.

Sirius loves this next part too. When his lover carefully lies down beside him—the two of them still locked together—and Remus holds him close as he jerks intermittently, still awash in a heady bliss that will last another twenty minutes. If there is a benefit to being a werewolf, it’s this, and Sirius loves to watch it. If Sirius was a werewolf as well they could bond in a more profound way. Werewolves mate with other werewolves for life. Just like Sirius could be legally married if he was with a man who wasn’t infected. But their secret marriage in front of the pack five years ago and mating like this is enough. It’s more than enough.

***

Draco never thought he’d get to do this.

They’re naked, standing face to face, the toes of their bare feet brushing against each other, their hips thrust forward just enough that their cocks kiss. The precum slicking the spot where their tips meet could belong to either of them, or both of them. They’re wet already and they haven’t even started yet.

“I didn’t exactly get much training on this. Sorry. Just the basic idea of how it works,” Harry says, like Draco would expect him to be an expert—as if Draco wants him to be trained at all.

“It might be better for me to go first. Since my foreskin is tighter,” Draco says.

Harry bites his lip. “Yeah. Alright.” Harry runs his hand through his hair, looking away from Draco, his breath coming in deep. Harry is really turned on by the idea of this.

Draco doesn’t blame him. He is too.

They both apply a bit of lube from the jar in the nightstand. It seems like a good idea with the amount of stretching they’re going to be doing. Then Draco grabs the base of his slicked cock, gripping it tight as he pushes the excess skin forward. By the time his fingers make it to his head, his foreskin is completely covering his tip, even though he’s fully erect. Draco closes his eyes for a second. Even just this, with the tip of Harry’s cock pressed against his, is so good.

Draco uses his other hand to tug at the edge of his foreskin, inching it up over Harry’s head. His skin is a bit slippery from the lube, and it makes Draco feel a bit tight and stretched, but eventually Harry’s darker head is completely encompassed by Draco’s pale foreskin.

Draco squeezes his eyes shut. The pressure of Harry’s head pressed tightly against his own feels like… like he’s inside Harry. Maybe this is how it would feel to push his cock into Harry’s ass. He opens his eyes to look at Harry. Harry’s jaw is tense, and Draco can tell he’s trying to regulate his breathing.

“The whole point of this is to feel good, right?” Draco teases, referring to the first time Harry fingered him.

Harry gives him a small smile. “Yeah.” But Harry is too lost in the sensation, and he clearly doesn’t get the reference.

Harry releases his grip on his own foreskin that he pulled back before they started, and then it’s Draco’s turn to get lost as Harry gently pushes it over Draco’s.

The sensations are so powerful now Draco is starting to feel light on his feet. With his free hand, he braces himself on Harry’s shoulder and leans forward, letting his forehead rest on Harry’s as they both stare down at their linked cocks, Harry’s seeming to swallow Draco’s.

“This is… it’s… I just… could I?” Harry stammers, and Draco doesn’t know what Harry’s asking for, but he says “yes” anyway.

There’s enough of Harry’s foreskin that when Harry rubs the area where their tips meet, it still slides back and forth just a bit. It feels so good.

“Oh, Harry,” Draco whispers, because it’s so much.

Harry’s hand clamps down tighter, stroking them slowly. Harry is panting now, and Draco can feel his sweat against his own forehead. Then Harry grabs Draco’s hair with his other hand and gives him a crushing kiss, the pace of his hand on their cocks quickening. Draco is moaning from pressure that’s tight and hot everywhere at the same time, his fingers closing over Harry’s pumping hand, wanting to feel it on the outside too. And then before can stop himself he is spurting—into Harry, into himself, and he can feel the warmth of Harry’s release too—all trapped inside and almost swelling where they meet as their cocks soften together. Draco can feel his knees buckle from the waves of intense pleasure crashing over him. Even better, he can tell Harry’s knees are buckling too. For a moment Draco wonders if they’ll be able to stay upright, but he finds that he doesn’t care.

Harry’s lips release from his, and Harry chuckles against Draco’s cheek.

“So, that’s docking,” Harry says, brushing his nose against Draco’s like they did the night before when they were trying not to kiss. The gesture feels so sweet, Draco closes his eyes.

“Yeah, that’s docking.”

They wait for just a few moments, before Harry pulls back his foreskin gingerly, and then Draco does the same, their cum drizzling down onto Draco’s leg in a glob.

“That is strangely hot,” Harry admits, and Draco laughs, because it is.

Harry leans in for another kiss, wrapping his arms around Draco.

“You can stay with me tonight?” Harry asks.

“Yes,” Draco says, and guides Harry to the bed.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry pulls the knot on the rope tight, securing both of Draco's wrists to the bedpost. They both stare at the knot, as if waiting for something to happen. They’re naked and hard after snogging for a good twenty minutes or so before starting in on some items Harry stole from the prop room.

"So... this is supposed to be sexy?" Draco asks.

"Yeah. I think so. I mean, I don't know if I get it. Do you get it?"

Draco shakes his head. 

Harry and Draco have tried a lot of new things over the last two weeks, and most of it has been amazing. But Harry isn’t sure about this. He spent the afternoon with Oliver Wood. Sirius wanted him to learn how to mix drinks. But the lesson on bartending had quickly devolved into Wood telling Harry stories about some of the kinkier requests he’s gotten at the brothel. Naturally, Harry got curious. And because he was a bit tipsy, he felt bold enough to knick a few things.

“Maybe it would help if we kissed or something,” Harry says.

“Alright.”

Since Draco is tied to the bedpost Harry is the one to lean in, pressing his lips to Draco’s. He can feel Draco trying to tug his bound wrists away from the bedposts, so Harry sits back.

“What is it?” Harry asks.

“Well, I’d like to… touch you. But I can’t. Maybe we could try something else.”

Harry leans in to untie Draco. As soon as Draco’s wrists are free he hooks one of his hands around Harry’s head, his lips crashing into Harry’s, sliding his tongue inside Harry’s mouth while his other hand roams down Harry’s back, grabbing his ass. When Draco pulls away their breaths are heavy and fast.

“That was way better than with the rope,” Harry says.

Draco whispers “I agree,” before leaning in for another kiss.

“We could try the ice,” Harry suggests. 

Draco smiles. “Alright. That could be fun.”

Oliver hadn’t gone too much detail concerning the ice play, just that it heightened sensation. Harry walks over to the desk where a bowl of ice from the wet bar sits. He picks up two cubes, and then turns back to Draco.

“They’re very cold,” Harry says.

Draco laughs. “I imagine so. What are you supposed to do with them?”

Harry winces, shifting the ice into his palms, as the cold bites at his fingertips. “I’m not quite sure. I mean, I guess I should put them on your skin.”

Draco lies on his back, looking up at Harry expectantly. Harry tips his palms, letting the ice fall in the center of Draco’s belly.

Draco’s stomach contracts, his entire body tensing. “No. That’s definitely not good. Just cold.”

Harry gingerly picks up the ice.

“Maybe it’s supposed to go here,” Harry says, placing a cube lower, where Draco’s cock is still hard.

“Bloody hell, Harry! Get it off!” Draco shrieks, and even though Harry scrambles to remove the ice immediately, Draco’s cock shrinks and softens.

Draco glares at him, his hands now shielding his dick.

“Sorry. No ice, then.” Harry takes the ice back to the bowl.

Next, he picks up the long piece of black fabric.

“Blindfold?” Harry asks.

Draco considers Harry skeptically.

“We could try it just for a minute. See how it goes,” Harry says.

Draco sighs, but sits up, and closes his eyes. Harry takes this to mean Draco’s game, and approaches, completely covering Draco’s eyes with the cloth, and tying it in the back.

“Now I can’t see you,” Draco says.

“I think that’s the point of it.”

Draco folds his arms across his chest. “But I like seeing you. You’re very fit.”

Harry is glad that Draco can’t see his sheepish smile.

Draco pulls the blindfold off. “Can I make a request?”

Harry’s smile deepens. “I believe that’s how this is supposed to work.”

“Right. The thing is, I don’t need any of this. I like trying new things with you, but I mostly just want to pin you to the bed and…”

Harry holds his breath. Maybe tonight will be the night when Draco will finally top him. He’s prepped himself for it every night for the last two weeks.

Draco shuts his mouth and shakes his head. “Never mind. Did you bring anything else?”

Harry can’t help but feel disappointed. However, there is one other thing he does want to try with Draco tonight.

Harry opens the bottom drawer of the desk where a glass bottle sits. He pulls it out, and places it on the desk. Draco’s eyebrows shoot up.

“That’s my favorite brand of scotch.”

Harry grins. “I’m friends with the bartender. He might’ve given me a tip.”

“So… what are we going to do with it, exactly?” Draco looks wary. After the ice incident Harry doesn’t blame him.

“Um, I just thought we’d get pissed,” Harry says.

“With scotch?” Draco asks, his lips sliding into a half-smile.

“This is what you like to drink, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then this is what we’re getting pissed with. Except, just one thing before we start,” Harry says.

Draco waits, that half smile still in place.

“The bartender… he made me promise to ask you to pay for it. According to him, I can’t afford this bottle of scotch. He wouldn’t even tell me how much it costs.”

Draco laughs. “Alright. Put it on my tab.”

“How much is it? Do you know?” Harry asks.

Draco shrugs. “Probably around 60 galleons.”

Harry’s mouth opens with shock.

Draco leans in to kiss him. “Don’t worry about it. Did you get shot glasses too, or are we going to drink this very nice scotch straight from the bottle?”

Harry winces. “Sorry.”

Draco takes the bottle from Harry and pulls the top off, the cork popping as it comes loose. He brings the bottle to his lips, and takes a long swallow.

“Mmmmm, that’s good,” Draco says, handing the scotch back to Harry, who brings it to his own lips. He takes a big swig, thinking it has to be mild for Draco to drink it straight like that. But it’s just as strong as firewhiskey, and he ends up coughing and grimacing as the scotch burns down his throat.

Draco laughs. “I take it you’ve never had scotch before.”

Harry shakes his head, his eyes still watering.

Draco kisses him again, sliding his tongue into Harry’s mouth. They kiss slowly for a few minutes, Draco guiding Harry’s hand to his cock, now fully erect.

“I like the taste of scotch on your lips,” Draco says.

So Harry takes another swallow. He still grimaces, but he’s better prepared for the burn this time, so he doesn’t cough. 

“Do you know what I think we should do?” Draco asks.

Harry has a pretty good idea, so he slides his fingers up and down Draco’s cock.

Draco chuckles. “No, not that. Although, that’s good too. That’s really good…”

Harry grins, and pumps Draco’s cock a few more times as he hands over the bottle to Draco.

“Drink it while I’m wanking you,” Harry whispers in his ear.

Draco tips the bottle back, and Harry watches his eyes squeeze shut as his adam’s apple bobs up and down while Harry’s fingers pump Draco’s cock.

“Fuck. Just… fuck,” Draco says, leaning forward and giving Harry’s neck a sloppy kiss.

“You were saying we should do something,” Harry reminds him, maintaining a rhythm with his fingers that he knows Draco will find distracting.

“Mmmhmmm,” Draco murmurs.

“What? What should we do?” Harry asks.

Draco shakes his head. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

Harry grips his cock hard, the way he knows Draco likes. Draco lets out a quiet moan as Harry brushes his thumb against the tip, precum wetting his finger. Then he lets go and brings his thumb up to his mouth, looking Draco straight in the eye as he licks the taste of Draco off of his thumb.

“You were saying?”

Draco leads Harry to the bed, pushing his back into the mattress, straddling him, the bottle of scotch still clutched in his left hand. Harry feels Draco’s body rock on top of his as Draco’s lips descend to kiss him, his tongue snaking out to taste himself in Harry’s mouth. He can feel Draco’s hot stiffness poking into his belly. Harry grabs Draco’s ass with both hands and grinds his own erection against Draco’s warm body.

“Fuck,” Draco whispers. Harry loves it when Draco swears, because he only does it when he’s too aroused to say anything polite.

Draco gyrates against Harry, their cocks sliding against each other, Draco grabbing both of them with a firm grip.

“Ohhh,” Harry says, rocking up against Draco, digging his fingers into the flesh of Draco’s ass.

Draco’s hand stays stationary, as they both thrust into it, their cocks pushing against each other. The rhythm of their thrusts come harder and faster, as their foreskins are pulled back and forth by Draco’s fingers. Harry’s third finger inches deeper into Draco’s crack, until he finds Draco’s hole, nudging the pad of his finger against it.

“Uggnnnn,” Draco moans, his thrusts suddenly becoming confused as he can’t decide if he wants to rock against Harry’s cock or finger, his beautiful face tense and flushed. Draco isn’t prepped, so Harry doesn’t push in far, but Draco loses it anyway, pumping his hips rapidly, his cock spurting onto Harry’s belly, his whole body tensing against Harry’s. As he comes, his fingers clutch their cocks tighter together, moving up and down along Harry’s shaft, the knuckles of his other hand white from grasping the liquor bottle. Then Harry is exploding with him, calling out Draco’s name as his hips pulse up into Draco’s hands.

Harry grabs the bottle from Draco’s grip, and brings it up to Draco’s lips. 

Draco smiles. “Mmmm, thank you. Sex and scotch have to be the best combination ever.”

Harry laughs. “Yes. Except that scotch tastes like ass.”

Draco eyes him skeptically. “I know for a fact that you have no idea what ass tastes like. And in order for this to work for me, I have to believe that you appreciate the flavor of the expensive bottle of scotch we are currently enjoying.”

“Do you want me to learn what ass tastes like?” Harry teases. “Because I can do that.”

“Actually, I was thinking we’d do something else,” Draco says. “Winky!”

There is a loud pop, and Winky is standing before them in her red tea cozy.

“Merlin’s beard, Draco. I’m not dressed!” Harry says, diving underneath the covers.

“She’s just a house elf,” Draco says. “We can’t get pissed without food. What do you want? I’d like some cheese toasties.”

“You eat cheese toasties? What happened to maintaining your figure?” Harry asks, because he’s annoyed that Draco said “just a house elf” again, but also amused that Draco ordered cheese toasties.

“I am less motivated about having a good figure when I am intoxicated. Obviously.” Draco says, like that makes perfect sense.

“Well, alright. Then cheese toasties for the both of us. And thank you, Winky.”

Winky nods at Harry, then there is another crack, and she’s gone.

“I can’t believe you eat cheese toasties,” Harry says.

“Why? What food do you eat when you’re pissed?” Draco asks.

“I like cheese toasties as much as the next bloke. But you? I expected you to want caviar or something.”

Draco smirks. “Yeah? That sounds like something my father would do. But me? I want cheese toasties. And more scotch. How much scotch have we drank at this point? Shouldn’t we be keeping track?”

They both look at the bottle that is now half-empty.

“How much of that was you, and how much of that was me?” Draco asks.

Harry grabs the bottle, and takes another long drink. “Dunno. You took more drinks than me, but I made mine count.”

“We’re going to be so ill tomorrow morning,” Draco says, but he’s smiling at Harry. Harry smiles back.

“True, but we’re going to be ill together. That’s something, isn’t it? Did I tell you about the contraption I learned about today?”

Draco shakes his head.

“These little metal things called ‘nipple clamps—”

“No,” Draco interrupts. “Absolutely not. I don’t even properly know what they are, but I know I don’t want them.”

Harry giggles. He can’t help it. The mortified look on Draco’s face is everything he hoped it would be. Then Draco is giggling too. They both rock back and forth, laughing.

It’s almost better than sex, Harry realizes. And he’s just drunk enough that the thought doesn’t make him sad.

***

Harry is standing at the bar with Oliver Wood, learning how to do the liquor inventory, when six knocks come from the front door. Harry moves from behind the bar to head for the door when Oliver puts a hand on Harry’s arm.

“Let get Sirius get that, mate. It’s Monday, 4:00, so that’ll be Loretta,” Oliver says.

“Loretta?” Harry asks.

Oliver nods, not bothering to explain any further. Sirius appears from down the hallway, and walks to the door. When he opens it a blond woman in cream heels and a pale blue dress suit walks inside.

“Good afternoon, Loretta. Always good to see you,” Sirius tells her, slipping an arm around her waist.

Harry tries not to stare. He really does. But it’s hard when his very gay godfather is walking arm-in-arm through the lobby with a beautiful woman.

“Would you like a drink, or would you like to go back to my chambers?” Sirius asks.

“No alcohol for me tonight. I have a hearing tomorrow. But it’s nice to see you, Oliver,” Loretta says.

Oliver smiles at her, and that smile makes it clear why he’s one of the most requested rent boys at the brothel. Harry probably would have fancied Oliver himself if he hadn't met Draco first. “Always nice to see you too, Loretta. Looking forward to our appointment next week.”

Their appointment? With a woman? As Loretta and Sirius disappear down the hall toward Sirius’s chambers Oliver says, “You act like you’ve never seen a witch before.”

“But she… we don’t… there are no…”

“She’s the only female client at this brothel, yes. And you’d best be more charming the next time she comes ‘round because she’s the best tipper too.”

The best tipper? Harry can’t imagine trying to woo a female client. He can’t even imagine trying to woo a male one.

“You fuck women?” Harry asks.

Oliver chuckles. “I fuck whoever’ll pay me, Harry. That’s the job.”

Harry doesn’t know what to say to that. That is the job. Why would it shock him that Sirius is fucking a witch?

“But you are gay, right?” Harry asks, because that matters to him for some reason.

Oliver shrugs. “Sure. For the most part. I did fuck a fit witch before all of this.”

This stops Harry cold. “But I thought you sold your virginity.”

Oliver chuckles again. “Virginity is such a… relative term. Isn’t it? Let’s finish the inventory, Harry. I have a 6:00 appointment, and I still have to prep and wash up.”

They barely finish with the inventory when Loretta and Sirius appear again, heading for the exit. After she’s gone Harry stares as Sirius walks toward them, securing the cuff links underneath his red suit.

“Close your mouth, Harry,” Sirius says, his jaw tight.

“I just didn’t realize—”

“That I’m a whore? Well, now you know. How did we do, Wood? Are the clients drinking us out of house and home?”

Wood doesn’t miss a beat. “Always. I’ll need to purchase more scotch before the end of the week.”

“Thank you. Harry, you best go prep. Wouldn’t do to keep your pureblood prince waiting, now would it?” Sirius says.

Harry doesn’t mention that Draco won’t show up for another three hours. He just leaves Wood and Sirius to talk about Scotch brands as he heads for the prep room early. He understands he crossed a line back there, but he isn’t sure how.

As he takes off his clothes to get into the shower he realizes what made him so uncomfortable. Sirius has always told him that he enjoyed his work, and Harry always believed him.

Now Harry isn’t so sure.

***

Luna looks like a fairy gone mad as she crouches next to a long, thin piece of wood resting on a grassy copse just outside her house in nothing but a white, translucent nightgown, her bare feet coated with dirt. The sun glows against her pale skin and hair, as she narrows her eyes, waiting for something to happen.

Millicent is sitting on an ever-growing mountain of sticks,, now warped and discarded from earlier failed experiments. Any sensible person would have given up by now. Millicent likes that Luna isn’t sensible. The world has more hope through her eccentric eyes.

“Perhaps you don’t thread the dragon heartstring through the center. What if you threaded it into the core?”

Millicent has no idea what she’s talking about. All she knows is that Luna shouldn’t be doing this out in the open where anyone could see. If people weren’t so put off by her father Xenophilius’s crackpot theories, the purebloods would have discovered Luna’s efforts to create a wand ages ago. It’s been a while since anyone was outright killed for their knowledge of wand lore, but Milicent is still nervous about it.

“Are the center and the core the same thing?” Millicent asks, after Luna doesn’t say anything for a few minutes.

Luna frowns. “Of course not.”

Luna twirls her wand, muttering under her breath. The piece of wood lets off a spark.

“I think I have it,” she whispers.

Millicent sits up. “You figured out how to make a wand?”

Luna nods. “Well, not a wand like yours or mine. But a decent enough wand.”

“Luna, that’s amazing!”

But Luna doesn’t look away from the sparking piece of wood, and she doesn’t smile. Instead, she says, “It doesn’t matter, does it? Even if I hoarded the information and made thousands of galleons, you’d still marry him, wouldn’t you?”

Millicent’s heart drops. “Luna, you don’t understand. It isn’t just about the money. My family--”

Luna stands, a breeze whipping through the thick trees and her skirt, causing her to shiver, goosebumps dotting her bare arms.

“Maybe I don’t want to understand. Maybe no one should understand a marriage like that,” Luna says, looking back into Milicent’s eyes.

“But we can still be together. Marriage is just a piece of paper—” Millicent begins, but Luna looks away.

“And a wand is just a piece of wood,” Luna says.

Luna takes slow steps toward the wilderness beyond her house. The shadows under her nightgown hint at the curves that have brought Millicent to her knees plenty of times. The gown sways in the wind, as Luna gets further and further away.

Millicent lets her go.


	6. Chapter 6

Sinistra Lowe’s dark hair, black dress suit, and red lipstick and fingernails make her look not unlike a pale and bony ladybug, those bright crimson fingernails tapping against the huge desk she perches behind.

 

“I find this contract inadequate to fulfill the obligations deemed necessary by the Black Estate. I cannot sign it,” her thin voice says.

 

Draco’s father is visibly stunned. Perhaps he bribed a few people who didn’t come through. Draco isn’t sure. But this is bad.

 

“What about the contract is inadequate?” his father asks.

 

“There is no infidelity clause. If Miss Bulstrode were to have a child, there would be no security that the baby in question would be a direct descendant of the Black family.”

 

Sinistra is worried that Millicent will cheat on Draco with a man. It would be funny if it wasn’t such a problem.

 

“We can easily put in an addendum that the paternity of the heir in question will be checked,” his father says.

 

“An infidelity clause is standard, and what I would expect for a marriage contract with such an enormous fortune attached. With so few pureblood girls left after the consumption, we must adhere to tradition, Lucius. The Black estate cannot be inherited through a union that is so blatantly flexible.”

 

Draco shifts in his seat. The Bulstrodes had been worried about this, and they were right.

 

His father glances at Draco for just a moment, before asking, “If an infidelity clause was added, would you find the contract adequate?”

 

No. They agreed on this. There couldn’t be an infidelity clause.

 

“Given the… rumors I have heard about Miss Bulstrode, I would only find the contract adequate with an infidelity clause that is reinforced with an unbreakable vow.” Lowe’s tone is low and calculating. She gives Draco a slight smile that implies she knows exactly why the infidelity clause was not initially included in the contract.

 

“That is highly irregular. Surely—”

 

“That is my final word, Lucius. Please see yourselves out.”

 

His father stands, and walks toward the door, glaring at Draco to follow him.

 

“But it is tradition for pureblood men to take mistresses,” Draco says, desperately.

 

Sinistra’s lips slide into that smile again. “Very well. The unbreakable vow can stipulate that you are allowed to take _ female _ mistresses, if you so choose.”

 

Then she knows. She definitely knows.

 

As Draco stands, his ears start ringing. He feels a bit dizzy as he follows his father out of the room, and down the hall of the ministry headquarters.

  
An unbreakable vow. In order to inherit the Black fortune he has to make an unbreakable vow. He has to promise that he’ll never see Harry again—that he’ll never have sex with any man ever again.

 

When they get into the elevator his father has enough sense not to say anything. Draco’s stomach begins to churn, and then lurches as the elevator moves down. When they make it to the ground level, Draco steps out into the lobby, and vomits up his lunch on the shiny, black floor.

 

“Draco—” his father says, taking his arm.

 

“Don’t, father. Just don’t.”

 

Without looking back he storms toward the floo exits, and instead of going to Malfoy Manor he calls out “Borgin and Burkes” instead.

 

***

 

Harry likes to keep his mirror open in the afternoon. He’s reading about dragon wrangling with earnest now. It sounds genuinely interesting. He wouldn’t be able to see Draco again, but he wouldn’t have to fuck other men. Or more likely, let other men fuck him. With bananas. Or their fists. The longer Harry spends at the brothel, the more he feels out of his element. The boys like Oliver Wood seem so polished and seductive. How could Harry ever compete with that? Would he even want to? Could he really let a man piss on him for money?

 

In the deep recesses of his mind, Harry allows himself to dream up another option, which he knows is ridiculous. He could offer Draco a cheaper contract after their initial one was over. He’d be honest about wanting to study dragon wrangling, but could still see Draco on the side. Sirius would take his 30 percent, but that would be alright. Harry could continue earning money. Sure, Draco would be married at that point, and that makes Harry feel a lump of guilt in his throat whenever he thinks about it, but Draco would end up fucking other boys at the brothel anyway. Why not him?

 

Harry doesn’t allow himself to wonder why Draco only wanted a month with him in the first place. He doesn’t allow himself to think about what might happen if Draco tells him he isn’t interested. He just imagines himself seeing Draco every night and waking up next to him every morning.

 

Their contract is already half-way over. They’re two weeks in. Harry always heard having sex for the first time was the best, but that isn’t true. Sex with Draco just keeps getting better. Harry is learning how to please Draco. Not from Sirius, who mostly teaches him about the many ways people fuck, and how someone who is enjoying being fucked reacts. Harry has learned how to groan and perform a million different facial expressions. They go through the process of a fuck, the escalation of a fuck, and how to explain to a man that “sure, I didn’t come this time, but it was still so good,” when the client bothers to notice. Sirius said that most of them don’t.

 

But none of that is necessary with Draco. He never has to worry about looking like it feels good, because it does feel good. And he never has to use any of the social training with Draco either. That’s mostly because he hasn’t had much of it. Sirius simply told him, “Just don’t talk about money and don’t talk about your personal life. If a client asks something personal, you can tell them that I won’t let you give out that information. Because that’s true.” Harry isn’t sure why they haven’t gone over more than that, because he overhears Sirius give the other boys advice about speaking with men all of the time. 

 

_ “Sometimes men want to talk more than they want to fuck. Listen. After your session, write down what they said. That way you can read your notes the next time they visit, and the client will be touched that you remembered.” _

 

Or  _ “Names are important. You need to remember the name of every man you have ever fucked within these walls. That can be difficult after you’ve been in the business for a while. That is why I greet every client by name as he enters the lobby. It gives you an opportunity to hear the name again, in case you’ve forgotten..” _

 

But Sirius doesn’t say anything like that to Harry. When he asks Sirius why, the only explanation he gets is, “The clients will like you, Harry. I’m not worried about that. But your look will be more appealing if we don’t smooth out your edges just yet.”

 

Even the oral sex training isn’t that useful. By the time they got to it a few days ago Harry had already learned a lot of what Sirius taught him by practicing on Draco, and the dildo they used in the training was nothing like Draco’s cock. It didn’t have foreskin that still covered half of the head, so Harry couldn’t tuck his tongue inside. It didn’t have small drops of precum for Harry to lick away. It didn’t have the veins Harry liked to press his fingers against. Even the head of the dildo was wrong— too big, and much harder to take down his throat. After the training was over Harry had never felt more skeptical about life as a rent boy.

 

Harry is careful to angle the mirror so if Draco opens his, he won’t see his shabby flat, but Harry often sees the grandeur of Draco’s surroundings. Draco really is a pureblood prince, and Harry is painfully aware of how simple Draco must find him. He sees movement in the corner of his eye as he studies, and his gaze shifts to the mirror where he can now see Draco’s face. It’s pink and tear stained. Draco sniffs as fresh tears fall down his cheeks. Harry can see the red door of the brothel behind him, and Harry knows what Draco is asking for. Harry nods, and shuts the mirror, hurrying to get ready for work. It’s only 2:00 in the afternoon, and Harry knows that no one is at the brothel yet. He tries not to stress out about his clothes as he pulls on trousers with holes and a shirt that’s ragged along the hem. As he shrugs on a jacket, he is haunted by Draco’s face.

 

He hurries down the hall outside his flat to the communal fireplace at the end that’s connected to the floo network, grabbing some floo powder and tossing it into the fireplace as he shouts out his destination.

 

Once he gets to Knockturn Alley he is sprinting, dashing through crowds of people, and running down the stairs until he can see Draco at the bottom, looking at up at him with bloodshot eyes still brimming with tears. As Harry gets to the bottom step he wraps his arms around Draco. Draco cries silently against Harry’s shoulder, his whole body shaking with his sobs.

 

“What’s wrong, Draco? What happened?” Harry asks.

 

Draco doesn’t answer, he just pulls Harry closer.

 

“Do you want to go inside?” Harry isn’t sure if Sirius would approve of that, but Draco is a mess.

 

“Go on holiday with me,” Draco says. His voice is rough, but he’s not crying anymore. Harry pulls away to look into Draco’s eyes.

 

“What? What do you mean?”

 

“Go on holiday with me. My family has this house on an island in Greece, right on the beach. Go with me. For a week. I’ll pay whatever you want. I’ll give you the bloody moon, Harry, if you just go on holiday with me. Today.”

 

On holiday? This isn’t something Harry expected Draco to ask, but Harry isn’t sure he can deny Draco anything while he’s crying like this.

 

“Alright,” Harry says.

 

“How much do you want wired to Sirius’s account? I’ll go to Gringotts right now. You get packed, and I can give you the floo address to the vacation property.”

 

Sirius is going to be furious. He might even fire Harry. But Harry knows if he waits to ask for permission, he’ll never get it. This has to happen now or not at all. So Harry asks for what he wants, instead of what Sirius would expect.

 

“A photograph,” Harry says. “That’s what I want. A photograph of you that I get to keep.”

 

Harry knows how that must sound. But Harry also knows that a holiday with a whore has to be expensive. And more than anything, a photograph is what Harry wants.

 

More tears stream down Draco’s cheeks. “That’s what you want, Harry?”

 

Harry nods.

 

Draco pulls him closer, crying again, his sobs loud and desperate this time.

 

The door next to them opens.

 

Harry tries not to think of why Sirius’s red door is charmed to open to the sound of a boy’s sobs. They both step inside, and Harry walks toward Sirius’s chambers, gearing himself to write a letter that is going to make his godfather livid.

 

***

 

Harry arrives in the fireplace of the Malfoy vacation property approximately three hours later. A nervous house elf stands next to the fireplace to greet him. Unlike Winky, this elf is wearing nothing but a grimy pillowcase.

 

“Hello,” Harry says to the elf.

 

“You is Master Malfoy’s Harry Potter?” 

 

Harry nods. “What’s your name?”

 

The elf shakes a bit before saying, “Dobby, sir. Just Dobby.”

 

“Nice to meet you, Dobby. Do you know where I should put my stuff?” Harry asks.

 

Dobby leads Harry through an enormous dining room with a floor-to-ceiling window that looks out onto a white sand beach with deep blue water. Harry gets distracted by the view for a moment, before reminding himself to follow Dobby. They travel down a wide hallway to an expansive bedroom with a bed as big as Harry’s entire flat. There is a set of clothes laid out on the edge of the mattress.

 

“Master Malfoy is on the quidditch pitch, sir. He be asking Dobby to bring Master Potter to the quidditch pitch too. Master Potter is wearing those clothes to the quidditch pitch, sir. They is good for flying.”

 

Flying? A heady thrill fills Harry. 

 

He’s never flown before.

 

***

 

The quidditch pitch is an expanse of green grass bookended with enormous brass goalposts. Draco is already whipping through the air—twirling and making sharp turns, seemingly unaware that Harry and Dobby are watching him from the ground.

 

Dobby leads him to the broom closet at the edge of the pitch. Some of the brooms are pretty scruffy, but Harry finds a sleek broom with a curved handle near the back. The gold lettering says “Nimbus 2000.” When Harry grabs the shiny wood with his fist, a tingle rushes through his arm and into his chest, like something dormant in his blood has sparked to life.

 

Harry has been to a quidditch match before. He understands the basics of how flying works. Once he has the broom firmly in both hands, he separates his legs, and mounts it. Without thinking too much, without focusing on the niggling fear in the back of his mind that he might fall on his face, he kicks against the earth like he’s seen Viktor Krum do at the beginning of a match. And suddenly he is airborne—the rush of wind in his ears and billowing through his robes as he climbs into the sky. It’s like the top of a roller coaster, but so much more. There is something glorious pumping through him as he steers the broom through the sky. It feels like that pulse of power that Sirius’s wand awoke within his body while he studied potions with Remus, but so much more because unlike potions, this is easy. This is  _ wonderful. _

 

He doesn’t know how long he dives and soars through the sky before he sees Draco gliding slowly toward him, his eyes locked on Harry. Draco’s cheeks are still flushed from crying, but he smiles as he pulls a small, golden ball out of his pocket. Delicate wings buzz to life, and Draco releases it into the air.

 

Harry grins at Draco. They both dash after the snitch.

 

***

 

Draco can’t help but notice how glorious Harry looks as he flies through the sky. Harry is beautiful when he’s naked, but Draco isn’t prepared for how fit he is in clothes too. He looks like one of Draco’s mates, or a boy Draco might see on the street. Until today Draco has only ever seen Harry naked, and it’s made him seem somehow separate—almost not real. But here Harry is wearing quidditch robes, his cheeks pink and his hair wild from flying, and Draco can’t help but remember all of those years on the pitch at Hogwarts, and the aftermath of each game in the showers, where he longed for things he didn’t think he’d ever be able to have.

 

When he and Harry finally touch down, Harry’s smile is still wide. Draco understands. He still remembers the first time he played on a toy broom when he was young.

 

“You know, when I was at Hogwarts there was this guy that I would sneak peeks at in the locker room. His name was Cedric Diggory,” Draco says.

 

Harry’s smile flattens. “Yeah? Did you… like him?”

 

“Yes, but I don’t think he’s gay. I just liked to think about it, you know? I used to… imagine him fucking me in the showers of the quidditch locker room,” Draco admits, and he can feel his cheeks grow hot with embarrassment.

 

Harry looks away. “But he didn’t, right? You were a virgin.”

 

“Yes, Harry. You were my first. I just fantasized about this other guy. Like I said, I don’t even think he’s gay.”

 

Draco notices how Harry’s jaw clenches, his eyes settling on something in the distance.

 

“Dobby said there was a shower and sauna out here. Is that it?” Harry asks.

 

Draco turns his head to look in the direction Harry is pointing and nods.

 

Harry’s eyes are intense as he says, “Then maybe it’s time you got fucked in the shower, Draco.”

 

Draco can’t help how instant his boner is. Harry is… jealous. And Harry fucking him in the shower? All of those years of imagining Cedric pounding into him, his back against the cold tile wall, come rushing back.   
  
“Yes,” Draco says. And he’s grateful he hasn’t eaten much today—grateful that he got here early to escape from Sinistra Lowe’s words, and spent that time cleaning and prepping himself, just because it was something to do—something besides thinking about his future. Because now he is ready for Harry to fuck him.

 

Harry holds onto his broom with his left hand, and reaches over and grabs Draco’s ass with his right—hard.

 

“That Cedric guy doesn’t even know how you like it,” Harry says, and Draco loves the possessive edge to Harry’s voice as his fingers knead into Draco’s ass.  _ Yes, _ Draco thinks.  _ Exactly like that. _ And he can’t help the way his mouth opens, how breath escapes his lips as he looks into Harry’s eyes.

 

“No, he doesn’t. Not like you,” Draco agrees.

 

When Harry pulls Draco to him for a deep, fierce kiss Draco is already weak in the knees. Harry’s fingers dive under the waistband of Draco’s robes and squeeze his bare ass.

 

“Oh, Harry,” Draco whispers as Harry sucks on his neck, and he knows from experience that he’s sucking hard enough to leave a mark. It makes Draco feel so wanted—so claimed.

 

He sprints with Harry toward the small structure at the edge of the field. It’s been there as long as Draco can remember—looking more like a cottage without windows than a sauna. When they get inside Harry is shoving him against the inside wall, grinding against Draco, biting at his neck. Draco writhes against Harry, moaning when Harry yanks his trousers down, and squeezes both of his ass cheeks at once, his dry fingers almost breaching Draco’s hole.

 

Draco is so lost in the moment that he almost forgets his wand in his robes as Harry rips them off, and drags him toward the door that says “Showers.” But just like any other wizard, Draco was given the “talk” when he was younger about prophylactic spells. So he grabs it from his pockets on the floor. He can see the heady lust leave Harry’s eyes for a second as Draco casts the necessary spells on both of them. Harry undresses himself as Draco goes through the full set of charms. By the time Draco is done Harry is naked before him and hard as a rock. As good as he looks in quidditch robes, Draco is glad to see them gone. Harry clasps Draco’s hand, and they rush into the showers together.

 

The shower room is a series of eight shower heads, all interspersed evenly along a white tiled wall. It does look a lot like the showers at Hogwarts, and Draco can’t help but feel aroused at the idea of being here with Harry.

 

Harry walks over to a shower head in the corner, and turns on a heavy stream of water. He looks back at Draco as he steps under the spray, his thick hair becoming saturated, the rivulets of water running down his naked skin. He maintains eye contact with Draco as he grabs his cock, pushing his foreskin up and down as he wanks himself. Draco just stands there, speechless before this confident version of Harry.

 

Next to each shower head there are three nozzles. When Draco was younger, he learned the first dispersed shampoo, the second soap, and the third a clear, sticky substance that he didn’t understand the use for. Until he read that book with Millicent. Then he knew exactly what the third substance was.

 

Draco pumps some lube out of the dispenser by the door, and shows Harry the pool of liquid in his hand.

 

“Is that—” Harry asks.

 

Draco nods.

 

“Um, okay. That’s convenient and disturbing.”

 

Draco doesn’t even want to go into it.

 

Harry pumps some of the liquid from the dispenser by his shower head.

 

“Come here,” he says. His voice is low and has a force to it that Draco likes. Draco steps toward Harry. When he gets close enough Harry grabs him, and pulls him under the water, his arm wrapped around Draco’s chest, his fingers sliding along Draco’s crack— slippery from the lube.

 

“Is this how you pictured it? Him grabbing you in the shower, and pushing his fingers inside of you?” Draco can feel Harry’s lips against his ear as one digit is pressed inside of him, and his back arches toward Harry. 

 

“Ohhh, yes,” Draco whispers.

 

Draco isn’t exactly sure he ever pictured this part, but he isn’t going to tell Harry that. Not when his warm finger feels so good up Draco’s ass. Not when Harry pushes it in even deeper, then pulls it out again. Slowly at first, but faster as Draco’s body opens for Harry.

 

“I’m going to fuck you so you can see my face, Draco. So you can know whose cock is inside of you,” Harry says as he adds a second lubed finger, and Draco moans.

 

“This Cedric guy doesn’t know where this is, does he?” Harry asks, pushing against a spot that makes Draco’s knees bend and his entire body pulse with pleasure. 

 

Draco shakes his head. “No, no he doesn’t.”

 

“That’s right,” Harry says, finger fucking Draco. Harry is good at this. Draco wants nothing more than for it continue forever while simultaneously longing for more.

 

“I need…” Draco murmurs, not really able to think as Harry scissors his fingers and pushes them in and out.

 

“This?” Harry asks, amusement in his voice as his hand that is grasping Draco’s chest moves lower to encircle Draco’s cock, his forefinger dipping under Draco’s foreskin, and tracing around his head.

 

Draco’s head falls back onto Harry’s shoulder. “Ohhhh.”

 

Then Harry’s hand is gone, and his fingers slide out of Draco’s ass.

 

“Against the wall, Draco,” Harry says.

 

Draco can’t believe they’re really doing this exactly the way he imagined it. The tile wall is just as cold as he thought it would be as he backs up into it. Harry doesn’t waste time after coating his cock with another squeeze of lube, crashing into Draco with a feral kiss, his hands hoisting Draco up until Draco’s knees are above his waist, his feet hooking around Harry’s back. It’s so awkward, but it’s also impossibly hot when the tip of Harry’s cock breaches Draco’s entrance, and they both adjust until Harry can push inside. As Harry slowly eases in, Draco grasps at Harry’s shoulders. Harry seems impossibly deeper like this. Draco’s legs tremble as they struggle to stay up, until Harry rocks back just a bit, thrusting into Draco again. He’s not gentle, not sweet as he slams into Draco, his thrusts pushing Draco up the wall, his lips bruising into Draco’s as he grabs Draco’s ass to keep it in the right place. Draco loses any sense of control as he calls out, the sound of his voice staccato from Harry’s fast pace, and echoing through the steamy room.

 

“Whose cock is up your ass? Is it Cedric’s?” Harry asks.

 

Draco shakes his head.

 

“Whose cock is up your ass?” Harry repeats.

 

“Yours,” Draco mutters. He can’t think because Harry is hitting that spot over and over again. His whole body is thrumming, his whole mind and existence is centered around the boy who is thrusting inside of him, consuming him, claiming him. “Harry’s. It’s Harry’s.”

 

Harry fucks him so hard Draco is sobbing. It’s almost too much pleasure. He needs to come, but he can’t let go of Harry’s shoulders to touch his own cock, which is trapped between their two bodies, and rubbing against Harry’s stomach.

 

“That’s right. Because you’re mine, and I’m yours,” Harry says, and Draco nods, even though that isn’t true. It can never be true, even if Draco wants it more than he wants to breathe. Even though he might give anything, if only it could be.

 

Draco doesn’t let his mind return to the ever-present fear that Harry is only fucking him for his money—that he would be nothing to Harry without his money. Draco doesn’t want to think about that. He wants to agree. He wants to be Harry’s.

 

“Yes. Mine. Yours,” He mutters as Harry’s thrusts turn almost violent, and he can feel that pressure building in his balls even though there isn’t a hand around his cock. He can feel his body tense up, his cock fill, before his vision goes white, and he’s screaming against Harry’s lips, his cum striping their chests, his ass pulsing on Harry’s cock as he comes and comes and comes, noticing the way Harry bites down hard on his neck as he groans too, shuddering and rocking into Draco a few more times.

 

Draco doesn’t even understand what’s happening as he’s slowly lowered onto the tile floor where the water is still pooling. He can feel Harry sitting next to him, his arms wrapping around him as Draco leans his head on Harry’s chest and gasps for air.

 

They don’t talk as the reality of what they both said in the heat of the moment sinks in. Draco waits for Harry to take it back, to claim that he wasn’t thinking. But Harry doesn’t take it back. He just holds Draco tighter, and kisses his neck in the place where that angry bite mark is still pink and fresh. Almost as if to say, “Yes, you are mine, Draco.”

 

Draco sighs contentedly, and snuggles closer to Harry.

 

***

  
Harry washes Draco’s body, his strokes with the washcloth slow and gentle, leaving kisses where Draco feels sore and bruised. He massages shampoo into Draco’s hair, his fingers tracing along Draco’s scalp until Draco feels so relaxed he wants to go to sleep. When Draco is clean he washes Harry with the same tender care. By the time they pull on their robes and head back to the house, they are leaning against each other, arm in arm, exhausted and ready for the meal Dobby has waiting for them on the huge dining room table. They sit close together, eating their food in silence. Harry scarfs it down in his regular fashion, but Draco takes his time. He shouldn’t eat the heavy meat and potatoes on his plate. He might not fit into his tuxedo for the wedding. But he can’t bring himself to care. He eats it all. Harry slides an arm around him while he eats, resting his head on Draco’s shoulder.

 

After they eat Harry wordlessly leads Draco to the bed. He removes his robe, then Draco’s, and they climb under the covers as naked as they usually are when they sleep together at the brothel. Harry’s bare skin is comforting to Draco. He curls up to Harry, thoughts of Sinistra Lowe and the unbreakable vow haunting him as Harry’s arm curls around him, and Harry’s lips kiss the top of his head.

 

Draco is miserable, but he’s also safe in Harry’s arms, and exhausted from what was probably the best sex of his life. Harry is so good. He knows exactly what Draco needs.

 

After the wedding, Draco will never be able to see Harry again.

 

Draco lets the despair suck him in. He allows himself to clutch at Harry. Lets the tears stream down his face. There are no sobs left in him, just silent tears. Harry wipes at Draco’s cheeks, but doesn’t ask questions. He just holds Draco and lets him cry.

 

By the time they drift off their arms and legs are both entwined, their bodies betraying what their words won’t now that the moment of passion is gone.

 

They sleep long and deep.

 

***

 

Draco wakes up to the smell of bacon. The expanse of bed next to him is empty. He stretches, his back protesting. He gingerly pulls the covers off, and looks over his shoulder. There are pink and purple bruises along his back from being slammed into the tile yesterday.  His ass aches every time he moves. Draco finds his wand has been set on the nightstand next to him. He could use it to perform healing charms on his body, but he doesn’t. The pain feels right.

 

Draco finds some loose pants and denims. He pulls them on, staying shirtless as he leaves the bedroom and heads toward the smell in the kitchen.

 

Harry is standing in front of a massive double stove in a ragged t-shirt and threadbare cut-offs, moving back and forth between two pans with an ease that Draco finds hypnotizing. Harry can cook. Draco supposes that’s logical. Harry doesn’t have house elves to do it for him. If Draco refuses to get married, he’d have to learn how to cook too.

 

The idea of that crashes into Draco.

 

If he refuses to get married.

 

He can’t do that. He’d be penniless. His father would disown him. He’d have to do his own laundry, find his own place, pay his own rent.

 

But he wouldn’t have to get married.

 

Harry glances back at Draco, a slow smile sliding onto his face. “Good morning.”

 

Draco walks up to Harry, closing his arms around Harry’s waist. “You’re cooking.”

 

“Yes. It’s a nice morning for a walk on the beach. Thought Dobby could use a break.”

 

Draco smiles against Harry’s shoulder. “You gave my house elf the morning off to walk on the beach?”

 

“He seemed to the like the idea. I like your house elf, by the way. He has a lot of spunk in him,” Harry says.

 

Of course Harry would like his house elf. Draco squeezes Harry tighter, afraid to ask his next question, a horrible hope budding in his chest, a terrible fear clutching at his heart.

 

“Would you teach me how to do that? To cook, that is?” Draco asks, his voice a little shaky.

 

“To make bacon and eggs? Sure. Here, take this spatula,” Harry says, handing the metal utensil he’s brandishing in his right hand to Draco. It feels warm and foreign in Draco’s hand.

 

“What do I do with it?” Draco asks.

 

“Well, I suppose cooking is a bit like brewing a potion. You flip the eggs and bacon as they cook. You want to heat them up evenly so nothing burns.”

 

A bit like potions. Draco is good at potions. He can do this. He can learn how to do his own laundry too.

 

“Thank you,” Draco says.

 

“I saw the bruises on your back this morning. I’m so sorry.”

 

Draco flips a piece of bacon with the spatula.

 

“I’m not.”

 

***

 

They leave the beach house with nothing but their towels. The beach is private, and Dobby has gone off to the market to buy food. The sun beats down on their naked bodies as they run toward the water. Draco watches how Harry’s cock and balls bounce with every step, how his ass jiggles and flexes as he runs, his feet sinking into the sand. The blue water before them sparkles in the sun as it crashes toward them.

 

The beauty of this private beach is something that only an obscene amount of money can buy. Poor wizards don’t have their own islands.

 

Draco leads Harry out into the warm water, the tide pushing at their legs as they wade deeper and deeper. When they’re in past their waists Draco draws Harry into him for a long, lazy kiss. Their bodies sway with the ebb and flow of the water as their kiss grows deeper and more frantic. Draco reaches down and takes both of their cocks in his fist, dragging their foreskin up and down. Harry’s arms close around him. Draco’s hand slaps in and out of the water as he wanks them, the splash of the ocean around their cocks almost sounding like the squish when Harry fucks Draco after coating his cock with too much lube. Harry moans against Draco.

 

There is no rush except that of the tide coming in—no reason why Draco can’t stand there and wank the both of them forever. Draco draws it out, the muscles in his forearm strong from grasping a broom in quidditch earlier that year, and more than up to the task of maintaining the slow pace.

 

When Harry’s hands travel up to Draco’s hair, when they grasp at his scalp, and he’s tensing against Draco, clearly on edge from the tease, Draco finally lets his hand speed up. He can feel Harry buck against him, almost yanking on his hair as they get closer and closer, Draco’s hand continuing to slap into the water. As Harry comes into the vastness of the ocean, Draco comes with him, their cum sluffing off into the water as it spurts out of their cocks.

 

Harry presses his forehead against Draco’s, pulling Draco’s hand off their cocks, lacing their fingers together.

 

“This place is so beautiful,” Harry whispers into Draco’s ear. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

 

Draco rubs his nose against Harry’s. “Not as beautiful as you.”

 

Harry gives him a shy smile. Draco can’t help but wonder if Harry is like this island—off limits for anyone but the richest of wizards. He wonders how much of Harry’s affection and possessiveness is tied to Draco’s money.

 

Draco supposes there is only one way to find out.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Draco stands on the steps of the Bulstrode mansion, staring at the knocker, and wondering if he has the courage to do this to Millicent.

The large door opens, and a tiny house elf stands in the entryway.

“Miss Bulstrode is asking if you is coming in or if you is staying on the porch all day like a coward,” the elf says, tripping over the insult that clearly came directly from Millicent.

“I’m coming in,” Draco steps inside before turning to the elf. “I don’t think I ever got your name.”

Draco is amazed at how much Harry has already rubbed off on him. Over the course of their week in Greece they spent a lot of time with Dobby. They even played exploding snap with him. Draco isn’t sure if he can ever go back to thinking of house elves the way he did before.

“Hokey, Sir.”

“Well, it’s nice to see you again, Hokey. Can you tell me where Millicent is?” Draco asks.

“Her bedroom, sir.”

Draco nods. “Thank you.”

In some ways the Bulstrode estate is even grander than the mansion Draco grew up in. But it does show signs of neglect. The marble staircase leading up to the second floor has a few cracks, and the chandelier hanging from the ceiling is clearly missing a few pieces of crystal. The Bulstrodes won’t be kind to Millicent when they discover she can’t save them from financial ruin.

When Draco gets to the top of the staircase he walks down a dark hall, turning when he gets to the end, and knocking on the large, wooden door in front of him.

“Come in,” Millicent's voice calls from inside.

Draco turns the doorknob, and the door creaks open. Milicent is sitting on her four-poster bed, surrounded by what looks like packages of biscuits, and holding a carton of muggle ice cream—something she’s shared with him before.

Millicent only eats like this when things are really bad.

“Yes, I found out about the bloody unbreakable vow. Not from you, of course. You’ve been in Greece, right? With your rent boy? Couldn’t send an owl before you left? Had to leave me to hear about it from my father?”

Draco winces. She’s right. He shouldn’t have done that.

“I’m sorry,” Draco says.

“Yeah, that’s not enough. We’ve been betrothed for three years, Draco. I know you don’t want to fuck me, and Circe knows I don’t want to fuck you, but that still matters. You should have told me.”

She dips a biscuit in her carton of ice cream and takes a big bite.

“Look, I’m sorry. I just didn’t know what to do. I panicked.”

“Yeah, I know. So did I. Why do you think I’m eating half of a muggle grocery store? Come over here and help me, so I don’t turn into a whale.”

Draco sits down gingerly on the bed. He picks up a chocolate biscuit and takes a bite.

“These are actually pretty good,” Draco says.

“Right? They’re almost good enough to distract me from the impending poverty and estrangement from my family.”

Draco’s shoulders relax. “So, you’re not going through with the marriage.”

Millicent gives him a smirk that makes him want to hug her. “Of course not. And neither are you. If that had been your plan you would have rushed over here, trying to convince me to do the unbreakable vow. But you didn’t. You took your boy to Greece.”

Draco smiles. “Sometimes I think you know me better than I know myself.”

“Well, I am your betrothed,” Millicent says.

Draco takes another biscuit. “We have to wait to tell everyone until after my contract with Harry is done. My father can’t have any excuse to take back Harry’s payment. That’s not fair to him.”

Millicent sighs. “So, that means I have to go to that wedding dress fitting tomorrow, doesn’t it?”

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s alright. We have to do this right. But I’m going to tell Luna. If I don’t tell her soon I’m not sure if she’s going to stick around. She’s become more and more distant.”

Draco dips the biscuit in the muggle ice cream carton, and takes a bite. “That’s amazing.”

“Yeah. I know. It’s the reason why I’m not going to fit into that bloody dress.”

Draco laughs. “My fitting isn’t going to go well either. Apparently, Harry can cook.”

“Seriously? He sounds dreamy. How do you think he’s going to take the news? Is he as enamoured with you as you are with him?” Millicent asks.

Draco takes another bite of his biscuit. “I don’t know.”

Millicent outstretches her arm with the carton of ice cream, offering it to Draco.

“I’ve found that this helps when you’re about to throw away a fortune and your place on the family tree for the person you love,” she says.

Draco takes it from her. “Thanks.”

***

Harry stands in front of the mirror in a red suit. It fits him better than any clothing he’s ever owned. He looks smooth, maybe even handsome. He knows that this dapper man in the mirror is just an illusion. He isn’t a rent boy. What he does with Draco every night isn’t prostitution. It stopped being that a long time ago, if it ever was. No, each night of their contract has simply been the process of Harry falling in love with a boy he can’t have.

Over the course of the last week it’s gotten even worse. Harry’s stopped trying to avoid calling out Draco’s name when he comes. He’s stopped asking what Draco wants. He’s stopped pretending that Draco’s body isn’t the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Their sex has become frighteningly intimate, Harry clinging to Draco after it’s over, and kissing parts of his face like his forehead and cheek that expose Harry’s feelings even more than that declaration of ownership in the shower room.

Draco lets him. He even kisses him back. Harry doesn’t know what to think of that.

But there’s one thing Draco hasn’t ever asked for. Something that Harry wants desperately before all of this is over. Draco’s never wanted to top. Not even once. Harry’s aware that some men only want to bottom, but Harry doesn’t think that’s it. Sometimes Draco grinds his cock against Harry’s ass when they’re in the shower together, or when they’re writhing in bed. It seems like Draco wants to fuck Harry, but he never does more than tease.

Harry cleaned and prepped himself for what will be the last time for a long time tonight. It’s the last night of his contract with Draco, and he can’t be a rent boy for anybody else. He realized it even before they left Greece. He’s not sure he could have convinced Sirius to let him continue at the brothel anyway. When Harry got back from their holiday Sirius was furious. They both agreed that Draco would be Harry’s last and only client. The tuition for the dragon wrangling trade school in Romania has already been paid. Harry is scheduled to leave in four days.

The red suit arrived at the brothel yesterday. It had already been ordered weeks ago. Harry asked if he could have it as a memento. It will only be worn once, but Harry knows he’s going to keep it forever. In his right breast pocket he has the photograph of Draco he received in exchange for their week in Greece. It’s a headshot. Draco is smiling, looking at the camera straight on. Harry has spent hours staring at it, and he knows he’ll spend hours more in Romania pining for Draco while he holds this photo and both mirrors in his hand. He wishes he could ask Draco to keep his mirror—to open it from time to time. But Harry knows that isn’t a good idea. This whole thing was probably not a good idea, even though Harry has a hard time regretting it.

There’s a knock on the door.

“It’s Draco,” a voice says from the other side.

Harry walks to the door, and opens it. Draco scans him up and down in his brand new red suit. Harry hoped that Draco would like it, but Draco just tenses his jaw, and steps inside the room, turning his back to Harry as he shrugs out of his own suit jacket.

“Take that thing off,” Draco says.

It feels like a slap in the face. “It’s a nice suit.”

Draco lets out a bitter laugh. “Yes, it is. Take it off, Harry.”

Harry is reminded he’s getting paid for this for the first time in almost two weeks. Draco almost never gives him a direct order. So he begins to take it off.

Draco undresses himself faster than Harry. He’s better at this. Harry feels embarrassed when Draco is naked before Harry has even unbuckled his belt. Harry looks at Draco’s flaccid cock, and realizes what a mistake he made by wearing the red suit. Draco walks over and unzips Harry’s fly, helping him pull the slacks and his pants down his hips.

Once Harry has stepped out of his shoes and slacks Draco seems to relax.

“What is it that you want?” Harry asks, even though he hasn’t asked something like that in weeks.

Draco leans in to kiss him.

It’s not the kind of kiss you give a whore. It’s not even the kind of kiss you give a boyfriend. It’s the kind of desperate kiss you let loose on a lover who is about to go to war. Draco clutches at Harry’s hair, his mouth fevered and full of teeth as he devours Harry with a primal need that takes away the awkwardness of the red suit. This Draco is violent with desire, and Harry softens underneath his needy onslaught.

“What do you want?” Draco asks between biting at Harry’s ear, and sucking at his neck. Harry’s lips part, and he confesses what he’s wanted to confess all month—a desire as powerful and secret as everything about them.

“I want you to fuck me,” Harry says. Of course, by fuck he means make love. By fuck, he means own, claim, penetrate. But by the way Draco stops sucking at his neck, by the way his pupils dilate, and his eyes burn into Harry’s, it’s clear Draco knows what he means.

“You’d let me?” Draco asks, his voice barely a whisper.

Harry nods. “Please.”

Draco becomes suddenly gentle, nuzzling into Harry’s neck and peppering kisses there. “You’d let me be inside you?” The tenderness in Draco’s voice makes Harry want to cry.

“Yes,” Harry says.

It’s difficult to not notice how hard Draco is as he slowly leads Harry to the bed, as he lies on top of Harry, and begins kissing his chest, his nipples, his belly. Draco lightly nips at Harry’s right hip bone, and Harry jerks at how sensitive his skin is there, and how much Draco’s teeth make him swoon. Draco’s tongue follows where his teeth were, sucking on Harry’s skin. Then he crawls up Harry’s body, leaning down to kiss Harry’s lips.

“I want to look you in the eye while I’m inside you,” Draco says, rubbing his nose against Harry’s.

Harry nods, not trusting himself to speak. That’s what he wants too.

It’s different than the first time they had sex face to face. This time, they know to put a pillow under Harry’s ass. This time, there’s no shyness as Draco pulls up Harry’s knees, kissing his inner thigh, as he brushes a lubed finger along Harry’s hole. Harry’s entire body lights up at Draco’s touch. As Draco finger massages Harry’s crack, Harry can’t help but wish he had asked for this sooner. He’ll only get to have this once with Draco. He can already tell it won’t be enough. He prepped himself before Draco got there, so when Draco slides a finger inside, his eyes staring into Harry’s, it doesn’t hurt, or feel uncomfortable. Harry can’t help but moan, and bite down on his own lip.

“You like that?” Draco asks.

Harry nods, closing his eyes as Draco inches in deeper, circling his finger inside of Harry.

“Look at me Harry,” Draco says in a whisper that’s half a plea, half desperation.

Draco hooks his finger inside of Harry, and a sweet spark that almost hurts sings through Harry’s body. His breath catches. Draco does it again.

“Oh, Draco. That’s… Ugh,” Harry says, shaking his head back and forth.

“Look at me,” Draco reminds him. When Harry’s eyes lock back on Draco’s he can feel the drag of Draco’s finger as it leaves his body, and then pushes back in with a second. Their eye contact is as deep as Draco’s fingers as he massages that spot, and Harry clutches at the sheets.

Draco’s slippery fingers start out gentle, but probe deeper, faster, harder as he stares into Harry’s eyes. Harry tries to stare back, but the pleasure is too much, and sometimes he has to close them, sometimes his chest has to arch toward the ceiling, his head thrown back as he moans Draco’s name. Topping Draco was good, but it wasn’t this. He can feel his entire body and soul open for Draco, feel Draco thrust into the most secret, deep parts of himself. His hips are gyrating into Draco’s thrusts, and he can’t pretend that he isn’t falling apart, that this isn’t better than anything he’s ever felt in his entire life.

Then Draco’s fingers are gone, and something bigger with more give slowly pushes inside. Harry’s eyes snap open, watching Draco’s flushed face, his lips parted, his gaze focused on where they’re joined.

“Harry, you look… oh, that’s beautiful. You look so beautiful taking me,” Draco whispers. Harry understands. The sight of Draco’s hole swallowing his cock is always breathtaking.

Draco closes his eyes and swallows. “I’m not going to last,” he says, as his hips connect with Harry’s ass, fully seated now. Draco’s cock feels so different than his fingers or that dildo Sirius told him to practice with. He can feel the friction of Draco’s veins, feel the push of Draco’s head as he seems to get thicker inside of Harry.

When Draco opens his eyes again, Harry can’t escape the way they bore into him. He can’t escape how close he feels to Draco, how much love he feels for the boy inside of him.

Draco pulls out just a bit, and pushes back in. They both take in a sharp breath. Draco’s jaw tightens. “It’s so good, Harry.”

“Yes,” Harry says.

Draco does it again, slower, pulling out further. As he slides home this time Harry can feel himself get lost like he did when Draco’s fingers were inside of him.

They are nothing but eye contact, loud breath, and the slick squish of lube and meeting of skin. The slowness means there is nowhere Harry can escape. His entire world is Draco diving inside of him. His Draco, his lover, his first in every way now, because now neither of them are virgins anymore in any sense of the word.

As Draco tenses, as Draco’s fingers close around his cock, and pump it with a desperation that makes it clear that Draco’s just as lost, Harry can feel his orgasm crash into him—the overwhelming charge pulsing through his entire body. That’s when he says it. Even though he shouldn’t. Even though it changes nothing about what they are and what this is.

“I love you.”

Draco doesn’t say it back. He just comes inside of Harry, his face taut, a primal moan escaping his lips. Then he gingerly pulls out of Harry, and slowly crawls next to him, his arm slinging across Harry’s chest.

It should feel good, this afterglow. It always has before. But Harry still feels exposed and raw. He’s given Draco everything he has, and Draco doesn’t want all of him. He only wants the part of Harry that he paid for.

Draco scoots closer, kissing Harry’s cheek. “It’s going to be alright Harry.”

Not “I love you too” or “I wish I wasn’t getting married to a woman” or “let’s extend the contract.” Harry’s stomach lurches with shame. Sirius warned him about this. He tried to tell Harry what it would feel like to fall in love with a client. But Harry didn’t listen.

“Everything is going to be fine, alright?” Draco repeats.

Harry gives him the most convincing smile he can. “Yeah, of course. Just got caught up in the moment, that’s all.”

It’s true and it’s a lie. Based on the way Draco is looking at him, Harry knows he’s not fooling anyone.

When Draco kisses Harry twenty minutes later, climbing on top of him, rubbing their erections together, Harry kisses him back. He bucks his hips against Draco. He doesn’t hold back. Every time Draco comes to Harry throughout the night with swollen lips and an erection, Harry takes him. In his mouth, in between his legs, in his ass. They suck and thrust and kiss until they’re so raw Harry’s body begins to hurt like his heart. But it never feels like enough. Harry isn’t sure how many orgasms he’s had or given Draco. He’s not even sure what time it is as they collapse exhausted for the last time in each other’s arms.

***

When Harry wakes the next morning he hurts all over, and he’s alone in the bed. He jerks up to see Draco completely dressed and securing his cuff links by the night stand.

“You’re leaving?” Harry asks, aware of how his voice trembles.

“Yes. Tonight is the wedding rehearsal, and it’s past noon.”

The wedding rehearsal. Draco is getting married tomorrow.

“If you like, I could get you off one last time—”

“No,’ Draco says. “I can’t.”

Harry feels panic rise in his chest. “If you wanted another contract it would be cheaper. And you wouldn’t have to come every night—”

“No.” Draco looks away from Harry.

Harry didn’t realize how much he had allowed himself to hope that Draco would want more from him until it’s clear that he doesn’t.

“Oh,” Harry hates himself for how desperate he sounds. “Right. Sorry.”

“I have to go,” Draco says, and as he turns Harry sees him brush a tear off his cheek. Harry doesn’t know what that means, isn’t sure how to make Draco feel better while his own heart is broken in two.

“It doesn’t have to be an exclusive contract—” Harry says.

But Draco just shakes his head, and opens the door. He walks out into the hallway and closes the door behind him, leaving Harry alone on the sheets stained with their cum.

Harry lets himself cry, lets himself fall apart in that room where he fell in love with Draco Malfoy. Where he lost more than his virginity—where he lost his heart. When Sirius comes in later with a knock on the door and a tray of food in his arms, he doesn’t say “I told you so.” He just listens quietly to Harry’s sobs, and rubs his back.

“There will be other boys, Harry. Better than Draco Malfoy.”

Harry doesn’t believe him.

***

Draco hands his wand to Millicent just outside Malfoy Manor. She gives him a quick hug before he squares his shoulders and walks through the open gate toward the entrance. He can hear those three words Harry whispered last night. He plays that moment in his head over and over again as he walks through the foyer and up the staircase toward his father’s room.

Harry said that he loved Draco. Even if it was in a moment of passion, that had to mean something, right? While Draco couldn’t tell him back—not when he was paying Harry, not when Draco wasn’t technically a free man, he would show Harry just how much that love was returned when all of this was over.

His father is inside his bedroom, looking in the mirror at his dress robes. The wedding rehearsal is just two hours away.

“Draco, you should be getting dressed. It’s polite for the groom and his family to arrive early,” Lucius says.

He says it like it’s nothing—to ask his son to never be happy again. He says it like this is just another dinner party.

His father is never going to understand.

Draco can feel himself tremble as he folds his arms across his chest and ducks his head.

“I’m not going to marry Millicent,” he says. His father’s eyebrows shoot up, and he spins to face Draco.

“What?” his father hisses.

“I’m not going to marry Millicent.”

“What do you mean? Of course you are.”

“No. I’m not. I’m in love with Harry.”

His father sneers at him. “You are not going to throw away the Black fortune and our family’s reputation for a rent boy. Be reasonable, Draco. The boy got paid to fuck you. If you’re penniless, he’ll want nothing to do with you. And make no mistake, if you don’t marry Millicent you will be penniless. You’ll be no son of mine.”

Draco expected that threat. But it still feels like a slap in the face.

“It’s not just Harry. I can’t live a lie for the rest of my life. Maybe Harry won’t want me without the money. But I’d rather be poor and alone with the hope of love, then rich and alone without it,” Draco says.

Draco halfway expects his father to reach for his wand pocket, to leave him with absolutely nothing. This is why he and Millicent withdrew money from their trusts—why they packed their bags before telling their parents anything. This is why Millicent is waiting for exactly thirty minutes for Draco to come back before she goes in after him.

But Lucius just stands there, paralyzed by his fear and anger.

“Goodbye, father,” Draco says, turning to leave. He feels like he has a target on his back. He waits for a curse to hit him—something painful and permanent.

It never comes.

He descends the stairs of his family home, and exits out the front, tears streaming down his face. Milicent is waiting for him. When he reaches her they side apparate to the bare flat she and Luna took up the day before. Luna is waiting for them. Draco tries not to feel jealous at the glow in her face, even as she asks, “Are you alright, Draco?”

Millicent rolls her eyes. “Of course he isn’t alright. I’m sorry, but we have to go. We’ll be back soon, Draco.” Millicent has to have a similar conversation with her parents, and it has to be now.

They apparate away.

***

When Draco walks down the steps to the red door in Knockturn Alley, he isn’t wearing a suit. Millicent insisted that he couldn’t go see Harry looking like a businessman or a pureblood. Instead, he’s wearing a t-shirt and denims he bought in a muggle shop last night. He likes how comfortable they feel. Maybe losing the most massive fortune in the wizarding world has its perks.

The night before they sat on the floor of Millicent's new flat, cursing their parents and drinking far more firewhiskey than was healthy for their bodies or bank accounts. Apparently, firewhiskey is expensive. Draco had no idea.

After they were all properly pissed, Luna’s father showed up at their door with a bottle of a clear liquor that tasted like black licorice as a housewarming gift. To everyone's surprise, Xenophilius was open-minded about more than the existence of the Snorkack. He drank on the floor with them, sharing some rather nasty stories about Lucius from their Hogwarts years. The four of them stayed up well into the night, laughing at Millicent's reenactment of her father’s blowup, and her mother’s nervous titters when she told them she wasn’t getting married.

“It’s rash, I say. Rash!” Milicent bellowed in a deep voice, pounding her fist on the floor. Luna giggled, leaning against Millicent's shoulder.

Millicent straightened, taking the posture they all learned signified her mother, and squeaked: “You mustn't run away with the Lovegood girl, people will think you are lesbian.” The pitch of her voice traveled up and down at the last word, making Luna laugh so hard there were tears at the edge of her eyes.

Draco smiles at the memory. It’s funny. In some ways, Millicent and Luna already feel more like family than his father ever did.

He knocks on the door exactly six times.

Luckily, Draco knows of a first cousin, once removed, who won’t mind that he’s gay—a man who is rumored to be the best rent boy in the business, even after all these years.

Sirius Black appears behind the door. By the sad, warm look in Sirius’s eyes, Draco can tell he’s already heard about the the horde of guests who showed up for a ceremony this morning, only to find out that the most elaborate wedding of the year wasn’t going to happen.

“Would you like to come in?” Sirius asks.

Draco nods, and when Sirius opens the door wider, he steps inside.

They head to Sirius’s chambers, which is a relief for Draco. This isn’t a conversation he wants to have within earshot of the other boys. When he begs for Harry’s address, he wants to do it in privacy.

He sits down on the same couch where he talked with Sirius about Harry for the first time. Looking back, he realizes how foolish he was to think that a place like this could ever offer a solution that would allow him to be happy while living a lie.

“I’m pleased to see you, Draco. What brings you here?” Sirius asks. His words are hesitant, and Draco realizes what this must look like.

“I’m not coming to you for a job, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Draco says.

Sirius smiles. “That’s good to hear.”

“You must have heard that I am no longer a worthy heir of the Black fortune. I’m no longer an heir to the Malfoy estate either.”

“Yes, I did hear that. I understand that all of this is very hard, but I’m happy for you. I think you’re doing the right thing,” Sirius says.

Draco is surprised to discover how much Sirius’s approval means to him.

“I… um, came here about Harry,” Draco says.

Sirius smiles again. “What about Harry?”

Draco takes in a deep breath. “I was hoping you might give me his address. I know that isn’t normally done, and I know it’s asking a lot. I promise that I’ll never bother him again if he doesn’t want to speak to me. I would never—”

Sirius scribbles something on a piece of paper at his desk, and hands it to Draco before he can finish.

“Harry’s address,” Sirius says.

Draco didn’t expect that to be so easy.

Sirius stands, and opens the door to his chamber. “Well, you best be going. Harry’s moving to Romania in two days. If you’re going to convince him to take you with him, you’ll need to get started.” He has this mischievous grin that reminds Draco of how attractive he found Sirius when they first met.

“Thank you. For everything,” Draco says.

“It’s been my pleasure.”

As Draco walks out of Sirius’s room and through the lobby of Sirius’s brothel he feels much like he did the first time—excited, nervous, and unsure of what will happen next. He thinks of those three words Harry confessed while Draco was deep inside of him, and then he opens that red door, leaving the brothel behind.

***

Harry isn’t crying or drunk for the first time in over 24 hours. Thanks to the potion Remus left on his nightstand, he isn’t hung over either. He sits at the edge of his bed, staring absently into the mirror Draco gave him—still lonely without its match. Draco must have forgotten about it. At some point Harry is going to have to pack for Romania. But for now he just looks into the glass and aches for Draco. Last night was the first night in over a month that he slept without Draco by his side, and waking up without him is something Harry doesn’t want to do again. But he’ll have to. Every single morning for the rest of his life.

Harry took Seamus out drinking the night before, after spending the afternoon crying with Sirius. Harry doesn’t remember everything that happened—only that at some point Sirius was half-dragging him out of the pub because he was too drunk to walk. Somehow they ended up at his flat where Remus was waiting. They argued about taking Harry back to the werewolf settlement. Sirius wanted to take him to the brothel.

Harry just shook his head. “I’m staying right here,” he said, just before he passed out.

The next morning when he woke up he had a pounding headache. There was bottle on his nightstand that said, “Drink me.” Once he did all of the pain in his head went away. Harry wonders idly if Remus has a potion that will take away the pain in his heart as well.

There’s a knock at the door. At first Harry wonders if that potion had some kind of psychological side effect because he swears he hears, “It’s Draco” on the other side of the door—just like every night at the brothel. It’s probably his neighbor asking if he has any extra floo powder.

Harry forces himself to stand and take a few steps to the door. When he opens it Draco is standing out in the hallway—not in a suit like he usually wears, but a slim pair of denims and t-shirt. Harry’s heart fills with hope until he sees the matching mirror in Draco’s right hand.

He’s just here to bring Harry the match to his mirror.

But if that was the case, why didn’t he just give it to Sirius? How did Draco get his address?

“Draco?” Harry asks, not sure how to respond to this. He tries not to devour Draco with his eyes, tries not to betray just how good it feels to see Draco again.

“Can I come in?” Draco asks.

That’s when Harry realizes that Draco can see into his flat. Draco Malfoy, who can afford to spend over 600 galleons on a rent boy in one month can see every inch of his tiny flat with communal showers and toilets—his flat that is barely big enough to fit a thin bed and a dresser. He wishes he tidied up before answering the door, but he didn’t, and now it’s too late.

He holds the door open wider because he may be embarrassed, but Draco just asked to come inside his room, and Harry can’t refuse. Even if the only reason Draco’s here is to give Harry the mirror.

To his credit, Draco doesn’t sneer at the small, unmade bed.

“I’m supposed to be getting married right now,” Draco says.

That’s right. Today is Draco’s wedding day.

“What happened?” Harry asks.

Draco shrugs. “I couldn’t do it.”

Harry’s heart fills with hope. If Draco isn’t married, and he’s inside Harry’s flat, maybe that means they can have another contract, or at least see each other again. Otherwise, why would Draco come here?

“Alright,” Harry says, because the silence between them suggests that he should say something.

“My father disowned me. There are exactly 87 galleons in my vault at Gringotts right now. That’s all the money I have in the world,” Draco tells him, and as he does, his shoulders rise up near his ears, and his eyes travel to his feet.

Harry doesn’t know what to say. Even after paying for trade school, Harry’s vault has more than that. Harry’s stomach drops as he wonders if this is why Draco is here. Maybe he wants the mirror back. Maybe he needs the money.

“Why are you here?” Harry asks.

He doesn’t mean to sound rude, but Draco flinches at the words. There are a few long moments of thick silence before Draco opens his mouth, then closes it again.

“Because… well, I’m in love with you,” Draco says, looking up at Harry, his eyes full of fear and hope.

In Harry’s wildest dreams he never imagined this—that Draco would skip his own wedding to confess his love. Harry grabs Draco’s shoulders and pulls him in for a fierce kiss. As soon as their lips connect Draco’s arms wrap around him, and they are kissing more desperately than they did two nights before. This kiss is better because it isn’t paid for. This kiss is honest and joyful and feels like it never has to end. Except when Draco pulls away to look in Harry’s eyes, a silly grin on his face.

“Does this mean—”

“I love you too, Draco. You know. I told you,” Harry says.

“But you said it was the heat of the moment.”

Harry just kisses him again. Because he doesn’t want to explain that he was Draco’s whore, and so of course he would only confess something like that in the heat of the moment. But he’s not Draco’s whore anymore.

Draco pulls away once more. “You’re moving to Romania.”

Harry hadn’t thought about that. Before he can offer to stay home Draco whispers, “Take me with you.”

Harry presses his forehead to Draco’s. “Yes. Of course. Yes.”

This time when they kiss it’s sweet and slow. The heat builds between them as their hands wander. Harry slides his fingers down over Draco’s perfect ass—which he can now touch as much as he likes. A wave of possessiveness washes over him.

“You’re mine, then. For real,” Harry says, squeezing Draco’s cheeks, and feeling Draco lean into him, his knees softening.

“Yes, this is real. But… for me it’s always been real,” Draco says. Harry feels overwhelmed by a heady joy. This is what he’s always wished for, even when he thought it could never happen.

He takes Draco’s earlobe into his mouth and bites, Draco’s breath catching, and says, “Me too. Every minute.”

Harry presses his lips to Draco’s neck, sucking at the skin, loving the feel of Draco’s swoon as he rests more of his weight against Harry. Harry can feel Draco’s erection against his hip.

“Can we… make love in my bed?” Harry asks, because he wants that more than anything. At first he was embarrassed about his flat, but having Draco here grounds everything, and makes it seem more real.

“Yes, Harry. Please.”

Harry pulls Draco into his his bed and they are a tangle of limbs. It occurs to Harry that he’s never been in a bed with Draco clothed before. He likes the texture of Draco’s denims as Draco grinds against him.

“I love you,” Harry repeats, because he can. He doesn’t have to feel embarrassed. He doesn’t have to hide it anymore.

Draco nuzzles Harry’s neck as his hips rock into Harry. “I love you too.”

They kiss and caress and rub against each other for a while on the narrow bed, Draco taking more control than he ever did when he was paying Harry. There’s something about this that calms Harry. He’s never minded taking the lead, but surrendering under Draco’s body feels good.

“I want to be inside you,” Draco says, as he slides his fingers underneath Harry’s shirt.

“I’m not, I haven’t… I’m not clean.”

“Then in between your legs. Please,” Draco begs, and Harry melts. Draco’s never asked for this. Even on their last night together he didn’t ask. The fact that he wants it makes Harry feel relieved.

Harry pulls Draco down for a deep kiss. “In between my legs. But next time you can be inside of me. I want that too.”

Draco tugs at the neck of his t-shirt, and yanks it over his head. It’s odd to see him undress that way—like a regular bloke. Harry watches the expanse of Draco’s pale skin as it’s revealed.

“You’re beautiful, Draco,” Harry says. He loves that pink blush that rises in Draco’s cheeks.

It’s awkward to get all of their clothes off because they stay in the bed, Draco straddling Harry. Draco laughs while Harry tries to kick off his denims with the weight of Draco still on his legs. When their clothes are all finally off Draco lies on top of Harry, their chests pressing against each other. Draco sighs, and Harry understands. It feels so good to be skin against skin.

For a while it’s just enough to kiss and writhe against each other naked. There’s no reason to hurry. Except when their breath picks up and their bodies start to ache for release. Then Draco lifts off of Harry, and Harry flips around, kneeling on the bed, his thighs squeezed together.

“I wanted you like this—wanted to be inside of you. I just didn’t want to ask. But now…” Draco confesses as he lines himself up, and pushes his cock between Harry’s thighs.

“You feel tight,” Draco hisses. Draco’s foreskin pulls back as his cock slides forward, and Harry can see the exposed head on the other side, wet and glistening with precum. Harry can feel Draco’s balls hit the back of his legs, feel how hot and sticky Draco’s cock is, before he rocks back, and slides in again. Harry moans as Draco reaches around to grab his cock. He rocks with Draco, wanting that sweet friction between his thighs, wanting to hear how undone Draco becomes as he thrusts again and again.

All of this is just as good as when they were in the brothel, but it’s so much more. Draco tells Harry that he loves him once more as his fingers quicken and the pressure builds inside of Harry. It isn’t the same as having Draco inside of him, but it feels so much better than that raw openness he felt the other night. It’s mind-blowing, but it’s also safe. This isn’t the end. He didn’t fall in love with a boy who’ll never love him back. Draco is here with him, and he won’t have to wake up without Draco ever again.

He can feel Draco’s hips become frantic, hear his breath coming in gasps, and he knows Draco is close. Harry is close too, exhaling Draco’s name as he feels himself plummeting over the edge, his entire body tensing as he comes all over Draco’s hand. Draco’s come spurts on the bed and Harry’s thighs as he pushes forward for a few more thrusts until his flaccid cock can’t push anymore.

Draco leans over, his sweaty chest lying on top of Harry’s back, his arms wrapping around Harry’s torso. They stay that way for several minutes as they catch their breath.

“Is this bed going to be big enough for both of us?” Draco asks, and Harry can hear the smile in his voice.

“I guess we’ll have to sleep in each other’s arms,” Harry says.

Draco chuckles. “I guess so.”


End file.
